THE WAY OF THE DEAD
by Chick Feed
Summary: The voice in Dean's nightmares begins to haunt him whilst he is awake. Eventually, ignoring it stops being an option. Dean has to respond. No matter what is waiting... Rated for situations and language. Set after S3. No spoilers. Case fic, multi-chapter.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer : Don't own them, a fact that has me resorting to lots of chocolate._

_**THE WAY OF THE DEAD**_

_The voice in Dean's nightmares begins to haunt him when he is awake. Eventually, ignoring  
__it stops being an option. Dean has to respond, no matter what is waiting._

**PROLOGUE**

Dean woke himself unexpectedly with a full throated yell. Sam's reaction was to go from peaceful sleep to flicking on the bedside light, rolling out of bed, grabbing pistol on route and coming to a stand aiming the gun in Dean's direction. He rapidly scanned the room for the threat. Dean was now sat up in bed breathing heavily, sweat beading on his forehead. He looked across at his brother. Or, to be more precise, he stared at the gun which his brother was aiming in his direction,  
"S'ok Sam. Stand down. Nightmare is all."  
Sam relaxed his stance and lowered his gun.  
"Jeeze Dean! So _not_ the way to wake a guy!"  
Dean's breathing began to even out and he grinned, nodding his head toward his brother.  
"Nice moves though. Just one _small_ thing…spotty boxers? Kinda spoiling the whole fearsome Hunter look."

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**CHAPTER ONE**

It was now the third night in a row that Sam's sleep had been rudely interrupted by Dean shouting himself awake and Sam had decided that enough was definitely enough. He was determined that Dean was either going to tell him what the dreams were about, or Sam would be locking him out of their shared room at night and forcing Dean to sleep in the Impala. Without acknowledging his brother, Sam clambered out of bed and headed to the kitchenette, hitching up his sweatpants on route. Returning with a damp cloth and a glass of water, Sam sat himself down on the edge of Dean's bed. As usual, his brother was sat bolt upright, sweat trickling down his face.  
"Here."  
Sam handed Dean the water before reaching over to plonk the damp cloth across the back of Dean's neck. As Dean took the glass Sam noticed the slight tremor in Dean's hand. Grey shadows had begun to form under Dean's eyes as a result of repeated disturbed nights.  
"Thanks."  
Sam waited patiently whilst Dean drank and used the cloth from his neck to wipe the sweat off his face.  
"Better?"  
Dean nodded,  
"Yeah. Sorry about doing this to you again Sam, really. You go on back to bed, I'll be fine now."  
Sam folded his arms,  
"No. Not until you tell me what your nightmares are about."  
Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam,  
"It's nightmare, singular, and that's all it is. Now stop being such a fuss butt and go back to bed. It's no big deal."  
Sam didn't move. Dean sighed,  
"_Sam!"  
_"Dean."  
Dean knew the look on his brother's face, it was the one which signalled that Sam wasn't about to move away any time soon. Not until Dean shared what in his dream that was causing him to wake himself up each night.  
"I'm waiting Dean. If it's no big deal, you'll have no problem talking to me about it. Will you?"  
Dean shook his head in resignation as he put the cloth and empty glass on his nightstand,  
"Ok. You win. Sharing time. Honestly though, it's nothing. There's this guy and no, before you ask, I can't tell what he looks like. Everything seems kinda…swirly. Including his face."  
"So how do you know it's a man?"  
"His voice. I'd hate to meet a woman who had a voice _that_ deep. Anyway, I think he's trying to get me go to him? Kinda like he needs me to do something, but the whole thing feels wrong. He's wrong. It's like he's forcing me and I want to fight against it, I do. But I can feel myself getting closer to him. I start yelling like a loon, and that's when I wake up. Really, that's all I can ever remember. It's just a dumb dream, ok?"  
Sam looked intently at his brother,  
"So, you're sure there's nothing familiar about the guy? What he's wearing, the sound of his voice?"  
"I told you, I can't see him clearly at all. I can't even tell whether he's indoors or out. It's just a dream Sammy. We both get them."

Sam nodded. Dean was right. Both of them were no strangers to nightmares. Hardly surprising given that their lives were spent hunting the very things that other people only thought of as being the product of fantasy or fiction. The things that they had experienced and seen _had_ to effect them. In particular, the things which Dean had been through. Really, it was a wonder that either of them remained even vaguely sane!  
"Ok. I'll leave it alone, but I'm right beside you if you need me."  
Dean smiled,  
"I know that. Now, get back to your own bed. Some of us need our beauty sleep. You more so than me, obviously."

Dean was grateful that their next hunt was straight forward, (at least within the context of what passed for straight forward in the lives of the two Hunters). A community centre was unwittingly harbouring a small clutch of gremlins that were causing havoc amongst the ladies cooking circle. This, in turn, had resulted in a number of severe cases of food poisoning, all requiring a stay in hospital. Unfortunately, in one case the effects had proven fatal for one unlucky cake lover. Added to that, rumours were starting up suggesting that one of the ladies was intentionally sabotaging the produce to get rid of the competition. The brothers expected to go in, resolve the problem quickly and get out again without being noticed. Truth be told, Dean didn't quite feel on top of his game. He hadn't told Sam, but the figure in his nightmares was becoming more insistent about his need for Dean. Dean occasionally felt his resistance waver, being replaced by the desire to respond and go to the stranger. As a result, Dean had become more anxious about going to sleep, allowing himself to close his eyes and rest less and less. He told himself that the lack of sleep was the reason he had now sometimes begun to hear the man's voice inside his head, even when he was fully awake.

Sam, as always, had managed to pick up on the minute signs that Dean wasn't feeling 100%, but for now he was backing off and trying to accept Dean's explanation that he was feeling a bit under the weather. There had actually been a couple of occasions where Dean had come close to telling Sam that the voice had begun plaguing him during his waking hours, but Dean had stopped himself. He knew that Sam would want to make a huge drama out of the whole thing which Dean wasn't sure he could tolerate right now. So, Dean kept quiet and unfortunately, during the case which they took on after the Gremlins, it was Sam who paid the price.

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	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

It was the middle of the night and the brothers were wandering around in the crypt under an old church. Sam had spotted the story about three of the older parishioners who were all regular church goers disappearing, one at a time, from the congregation. Concerned visits to two of the parishioner's homes by the priest, who was expecting to hear that the members had passed away, revealed that both of them seemed to have simply vanished. Each had lived alone and had no known family. Their homes were found to be undisturbed and it was clear that one of them at least had been expecting to return home, having left a pan of pre-prepared vegetables on the hob and a small joint of raw meat sitting inside the oven. Clearly they had every intention of cooking themselves a meal on the day of their disappearance. It was discovered that the third parishioner had gone missing when their grandson called at the home on a pre-arranged visit. So far the local Sheriff's department had no explanation as to why any of them appeared to have evaporated into thin air, or where they may have gone to. The Winchesters began by focusing their own efforts on the church itself as, aside from being elderly, it seemed to be the only common factor between the three septuagenarians.

Dean stopped, taking a moment to steady his breathing, trying to direct his attention to the job in hand and ignore the voice inside his head which was now making itself known with much greater intensity. It was like the ticking of an extremely irritating clock. Just one word, repeated over and over again inside his head, _"Come." _He had discovered that he could block it out sometimes by humming rock tunes, which is what he was doing now, much to Sam's irritation. Turning, Sam shone his flashlight near his brother's face,  
"Dean. Will you quit it with the humming?"  
Dean shielded his eyes from the light with his hand,  
"Sorry, alright? Now get that damn light away from me."

Sam caught the undertone of annoyance in Dean's tone along with _Something else…worry?  
_"Are you ok Dean? You've been a bit, I dunno, _off_ lately."  
Dean turned away from his brother's concern,  
"I'm fine. What're we looking for here?"  
Sam frowned slightly at the question,  
"The usual I guess. Any clue relating to the disappearing old folk. I just thought it would be logical to start in the crypt and work our way up from here. Look, Dean, if you're not feeling up to it you can leave me to do a quick search while you wait in the car. I promise I won't take on any bad guys on my own. We can always come back tomorrow night."  
At this, Dean intentionally shone his own flashlight directly into Sam's eyes,  
"_Fuck's sake Sammy!_ I've told you. I'm fine. Now drop it. Just do your job and leave me to do mine."  
Sam moved his head out of the bright light, blinking his eyes open and closed, trying to get rid of the round spheres of colour now affecting his vision. He heard Dean's soft footfalls as his brother walked away from him.  
"_Sam._ Think I've got something over here."

Still partially blinded by the after effect of the LED's of Dean's flashlight, Sam didn't see the figure that leapt at him from behind a raised stone tomb. Even when the thing rammed into him from the side with enough force to knock Sam to his hands and knees, causing him to drop his own flashlight, Sam still couldn't tell what was now kicking him in the gut and winding him enough to take away his power of speech. He _did_ know that someone, or something, extremely strong was pushing him the rest of the way down onto the floor whilst throwing itself bodily onto him and yanking his head back by the hair.

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	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

Dean put down the weapons bag and knelt to inspect the large dark smear he had noticed at the base of another stone tomb. Once again humming out loud to himself, Dean didn't hear the sound of the air whooshing out of his brother's lungs, or the clatter as Sam's flashlight hit the floor. In fact, he remained completely unaware of the attack…..until Sam finally screamed out in hurt. Although dried onto the stone slab flooring, Dean had no doubt that it was a significantly sized blood stain. Running his torch up the side of the tomb he saw other splatters of dried on blood. Dean stopped his persistent humming intending to call to Sam again, only to be stopped short by the sound of his brother's pained cry. Still kneeling, Dean spun round, directing the beam of his flashlight towards the sound of the struggle which had finally cut through the voice in his head. He saw Sam face down on the floor, desperately trying to buck off another large figure which lay across his back, effectively pinning Sam down.  
"_**Dean…help me!"  
**_Sam's shout effectively pushed everything else aside. Dean cursed and grabbed a machete out of the kit bag, launching himself toward the skirmish as his brother again cried out. Sam still lay pressed to the floor by what looked like a large and well built male. Dean grabbed at the man's stained and grimy shirt with one hand, at the same time as the cloying smell of rotting flesh made him gag. It took nearly all his strength to heave the figure up and back, away from Sam. The man's head whipped around and blank eyes fixed on Dean. Seeing the scarlet of fresh blood smeared thickly around the thing's mouth and dripping from it's chin, Dean had no doubt that it had already taken a chunk out of Sam.  
"_**Shit**_…..fucking Ghoul. _You stinking bastard!_ You're ass is _**mine**_."  
Dean stepped back, machete at the ready as the ghoul howled at him and clambered up off the floor with a level of agility that surprised Dean. Still, the creature wasn't quite fast enough, with one powerful swipe it was decapitated before it could get fully upright. The head deserted the body at high speed, hitting the floor with a sloppy _"thunk"_ before rolling away across the floor of the crypt. For a couple of seconds the body itself didn't move, as though uncertain what it should do next; then it finally crumpled into a heap. Sam rapidly shuffled his legs out of the way to avoid being a landing pad. Dean kicked the corpse to one side and turned his attention to his brother. Sam now lay on his back, clutching the top of his right arm with his left hand, blood seeping through his fingers and spreading into the material of his over shirt. He had his jaw clamped tight and was breathing through his nose, his expression relaying both pain and shock.

Dean quickly knelt at his brother's side, putting a gentle hand on Sam's forehead,  
"It's ok Sammy. You're ok. Lemme look at your arm. Sammy? Let me help. I need to see the wound, ok Sammy?"  
Sam looked up at Dean and nodded. Actively trying to control and calm his breathing, he moved his hand from his injured arm, allowing Dean to assess what damage had been inflicted by the ghoul. Dean grimaced at the clear patterning of where the ghoul's sharp teeth had initially punctured deep into Sam's flesh before starting to tear chunks away, chunks which were now left hanging by threads of skin, revealing the muscle underneath. Sam watched Dean, gauging the extent of his injury by the expression he saw on Dean's face,  
"So? How's it look?"  
"I'm not gonna lie bro'. It's messy and it's gonna need some serious embroidery, plus some antibiotics to stop any infection. I'll cover it to help stop the bleeding, but I'd say we're due a visit to the ER to get you patched up properly."  
Sam groaned,  
"What the hell are we gonna tell them Dean? It's obviously not a dog bite!"  
"Right…..well…I think we'll have to go with deranged mugger taking a bite when you wouldn't hand over your wallet. The patterning is so close to a human bite mark I don't think anyone'll query it. Anyway, that'll make sure you get the antibiotics you need. Ok?"  
Sam nodded his acceptance.

Three hours later the brothers left the ER. Dean clutching at half a dozen packs of sterile gauze, a strip of alcohol wipes, three packs of sterile cotton bandages and a box of heavy duty antibiotic tablets. When they had first arrived at the ER, Sam's bleeding had virtually stopped and the pain of the injury had become more of a constant throb accompanied by a feeling of tightness. The doctors had spoken of the possibility of a skin graft if necessary, dependant on the level of scarring once the newly stitched wound had healed. They had also insisted on administering an anti Tetanus vaccine, explaining to Sam that a bite from another human was one of the worst kinds of bites to get and highly likely to cause an infection. Sam accepted a card with his review appointment date, doubting that he and Dean would be staying around long enough to return.

_At that same time but in another state, in a darkened wood panelled room hung with luxuriant tapestries, a man sat in a wing backed armchair. Anyone looking at him would see a very smartly dressed gentleman, tall and slender, short jet black hair changing to steel grey at his temples, a neatly trimmed steel grey goatee, his silk tie knotted just so. An observer would place the man's age in the mid fifties. An observer would see that the man was smiling and, if they chose to move closer, they might also notice that the smile did not reach his ice blue and cruel looking eyes._

The man continued to stare deeply into the depths of the deep, rich coloured liquid filling the crystal scrying bowl which he held on his lap.  
"Time for you to come home Dean Winchester."

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Sam sat quietly as Dean drove them back to their motel. Dean didn't mind too much, for the moment he was free of the voice and the quiet was a blessed relief. However, he was also aware that Sam was sat, head turned away, staring out of the passenger side window at the corn field they were currently passing as though it was one of the seven wonders. Dean shuffled slightly in his seat, the set of his brother's body signalling that there were discussions that Sam was building up to and Dean figured he knew what was on his brother's mind. Hell, he had no _doubts_ about what was bugging Sam, and he wasn't sure he was going to be able to get out of this one. He made an attempt to break the silence,  
"So, er. I put the head in the trunk. Didn't want to risk some well meaning morg attendant trying to re-attach it. I'll drop you off at the motel then I'll take it somewhere to burn it."  
There was no response from Sam.  
"That ok with you Sammy?"  
"Fine."  
Dean sighed. Sam hadn't risen to the intentional use of his childhood name. Nope, there was no getting out of this one. All Dean could do was wait for Sam to start the ball rolling. Dean reached to turn some music on, but was stopped short by a sudden crescendo in his head,  
_"Dean Winchester. I demand that you come to me. You cannot refuse. You __**will**__ not refuse me. You will obey. You will obey….."  
_Dean couldn't help himself, the volume and sheer power of the voice inside was overwhelming, letting go of the steering wheel, he clamped both hands to his ears, moaning and shaking his head. He felt the pull of the call throughout his whole body, a desperate need to respond, to turn the car around and drive full speed to whoever wanted him. The impala drifted off course, heading directly towards on-coming traffic.

Dean vaguely heard Sam shout a curse, call his name. He saw Sam make a grab for the steering wheel,. He thought he felt Sam shoving him to one side. Dean didn't care. His head now ringing with the repetitive high pitched screech of _"Obey."_ It set his teeth on edge, made his heart pound like a kettle drum in his chest. His eyes watering with pain, Dean cried out,  
"_**Get away! Get away from me!"  
**_Then he was aware of nothing. He slumped sideways, head thumping against the driver's side window; leaving Sam struggling with his one good arm to get the car under control, safely off the asphalt and onto the stripe of rough grass forming the no man's land between highway and fields.

Sam sat, taking the much needed few seconds to allow his breathing to calm and to let his adrenaline surge die down a little before turning his attention to his brother. Reaching over, he gently shook Dean's shoulder,  
"Dean? Come on buddy, let me see you open your eyes."  
Dean slowly blinked his eyes open in response to Sam's voice, then all colour drained from his face. He fought the car door open and hung his head outside whilst he hurled. Sam let him get on with it, placing his hand in the centre of Dean's back, a touch designed to simply let Dean know he was there with him. Finally Dean rubbed the back of a hand across his mouth and sat himself upright again in the car.  
"Feel better for that?"  
Dean groaned, rubbing at his forehead with the heels of his hands, the voice now a persistent whisper, like white noise in his brain.  
"Not really."

"So…..you gonna tell me what's been happening with you, or do we carry on pretending you're ok, that you didn't loose focus on a hunt, pass out at the wheel and haven't just hurled your stomach lining onto the floor?"  
Dean looked at Sam with red rimmed eyes,  
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Sam. It's my fault you got hurt. If I'd been focused I would've heard that bastard grab you and I would've reacted sooner. It's all my fault. I shouldn't have gone on a hunt today. I should know better….."  
Sam simply nodded, then,  
"Don't think I haven't noticed you've been distracted, even though you claimed to be fine. It's way past time to let me in on what's goin' on Dean, so give."

Dean lowered his head, taking a deep breath before telling Sam about the dreams and about the voice he had been hearing more and more often inside his mind.  
"I don't know who it is Sammy, but it's driving me crazy. I need to find this guy, I need to go to him. I _have_ to. Then I need to kick his freakin' butt!  
Sam pulled Dean's head round until Dean made full eye contact with him,  
"I think you mean_ we're _going to find this guy…thing…whatever it is, and then _we're_ going to sort this out. We'll even share any butt kicking that's needed. Dean, you're not doing this alone, I'm serious. Do you hear me?"  
Sam saw Dean's glance flick towards Sam's injury and was pleased when Dean didn't go there. Instead Dean nodded and gave a half smile,  
"Yessir…Loud and clear."  
Sam grinned, "About time you recognised my authority."  
"What? You don't have authority _Sammy_. I'm the oldest."  
"Maybe so little man, but I'm the biggest. You ok to chauffeur me? Or do I need to take over and demonstrate how to drive in the right lane?"  
"Kiss my ass."  
Sam gave a wide eyed innocent look, "Was that an order brother?"  
Dean laughed and pulled back onto the highway. The whispering continued, but Dean didn't care right now, he figured he could cope, with Sam's help.

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	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Dean was sat up in bed feeling slightly foolish whilst Sam fussed around him.  
"What if I'm not sleepy Sam?"  
"Are you kidding me? When did you last have an undisturbed night's sleep? The way you look? I'm guessing you'll sleep. All you need remember is that I'm right here watching out for you. I'll wake you if it looks like things are getting rough. You just need to try and let this…who knows what…talk to you, tell you where to go. Don't fight it, ok?"  
"Is this what it's like when you do that vision thing that you do do so well?"  
"Huh? Ok, I do get the mother of all headaches but, no, this's something different. Doesn't matter though, we'll figure it. Now, close your eyes like a good boy and start counting sheep or whatever."  
"You're weird little brother. You do know that, right?"  
"This, from the one who hears voices!"  
Dean flipped Sam the finger before settling down in the bed, rolling away from Sam to lay on his stomach. There was silence for around 30 seconds then,  
"Sammy….._Stop watching me_!"  
"What? No! I wasn't!"  
Dean smiled at the guilty tone underlying Sam's denial,  
"Good night Sam."

As Dean drifted into sleep, the white noise in his head began to swirl and come together, like someone trying to tune in an old radio to the station they wanted. At first just the odd word echoed in multi-coloured patterns. As an image emerged from the patterns, so did the words coming from the blurred face floating closer and closer to Dean.  
"_You are mine boy. I **will** have you. You **will** journey to me. Seek me out, I can give you peace. Travel boy, or suffer. Travel."_

Dean looked down on his dream self, curled naked on a wooden floor. Shadowed shapes flitted around him and over him, reaching out but not quite making contact. His dream self raised his head, turning this way and that, as if trying to look around, even though his eyes were haphazardly sewn shut. Dean heard his own voice begging,  
"Where are you? I can't see. How do I find you?"  
Sinuous laughter began to occupy the dark space around Dean, echoing off walls he could not see, seething in waves within his own head, growing in volume, vibrating from somewhere deep inside Dean, and becoming madness. The shadow figures rushed forward, freed to make contact, brushing Dean's skin, moving in his mouth, burrowing into his ears, pinching, grasping, invasive, violating. And Dean heard himself scream.

Dean suddenly sat bolt upright in his bed, his desperate cry dieing on his lips. Sam was there instantly, sitting himself on the edge of the bed and placing a reassuring arm across Dean's shoulders as Dean trembled, his breath coming in short gasps. Sam recognised the depth of Dean's distress by the fact that Dean didn't pull away from his hold, instead leaning closer into Sam's chest.  
"Hey…hey. It's ok Dean. You're safe. Relax… I'm right here with you brother."  
As Dean's breathing began to return to normal and his tremors subside, Dean adjusted himself away from Sam's chest, though he wasn't yet ready to give up on Sam's hold across his shoulders. Dean focused on the weight of his younger brother's arm, using Sam's closeness to ground himself. Sam waited.  
"M'ok. You can let go now Sam…please."  
"You sure?"  
Dean nodded and Sam moved away to sit on the edge of his own bed, facing Dean,  
"So…I guess you made contact?"  
"You could put it that way."  
"Ok, so what are we dealing with?"  
"Right now? A big brother who needs coffee."

"Some kind of calling spell?"  
Dean rubbed a hand across his forehead,  
"I guess."  
"So, we could be dealing with a witch?"  
Dean groaned,  
"I was so trying not to think about that. Thanks!"  
"Oh, don't worry. I'm sure I can rustle up a whole range of other nasties that use calling spells if a witch isn't your thing. Any idea what you'd prefer?"  
"Yeah. How about hallucinations? Can we go with that?"  
"Sorry. Too mundane."

_The man waved a well manicured hand across the surface of the scrying bowl and looked up with a sigh of satisfaction,  
_"_He answers my command. Fetch the others. Prepare a welcome. We shall be a most gracious host, as befits such a prize as this one. Go."  
__A figure emerged from a shadowed corner of the room and moved to do it's masters bidding._

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	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

"You sure you're ok driving Dean?"  
"I already told you. I'm fine. Driving actually keeps it quiet in my head, provided I'm going in the right direction."  
"Any clues where it's leading us to yet?"  
"Nope. I've just got his odd kinda sat-nav in my head, you know? Turn here, follow this road. It's like I've got the directions memorised, but I can only remember them one at a time and I can't remember where they take us. I just know I'll get us there."  
"Creepy."  
Dean glanced across at Sam who sat balancing his laptop on his knee.  
"You got anything yet?"  
"Not so much. Really anyone, or anything, can use a calling spell if they've got the right ingredients and say the right words. It might help if we knew _why_ you were being called."  
"Well. I can pretty much guarantee it's not to present me with my jackpot lottery cash, or to ask me to run for President. Whatever the reason, we both know it won't be goo….._**shit!**_"  
Dean suddenly slammed the Impala into a 180.  
"Sorry…..missed a turning."

Sam released his one handed grip on the dashboard.  
"That was a blast. How do you know you were going the wrong way?"  
"Oh…easy. Right direction? Head quiet. Wrong way…Pain. Sure as hell helps keep me on the right track."  
"Dean! Why didn't you tell me?"  
"Cos you didn't ask, jerk."  
Sam dug his cell out of a pocket and began tapping out a message.  
"Who're you texting?"  
"Bobby. Just keeping him updated on our co-ordinates. I figure that way he'll know where we are when we..uh..get there."  
Dean nodded.  
"Nice one bro'. At least he'll know where to pick up our corpses later.  
"_Dean!"  
_Keeping his eyes on the road ahead, Dean smiled,  
"Oh, stop getting your frillies in a twist Sammy. Anyway, I've already sent Yoda a text as well to let him know I'll be leaving my cell on. You know…just in case."

Sam was snoring gently, head resting against the passenger door window, mouth hung open. Dean fished around in the glove compartment, extracting a handful of M&M's and tipping all but one into his lap. His first attempt missed Sam completely, bouncing off the passenger side window with a small "_chink" _and landing on the floor somewhere. His next shot at Sam's open mouth skimmed Sam's nose instead. Dean smiled as Sam muttered and swiped at his nose end in his sleep. Once Dean was certain Sam had settled again, he took aim. A bump in the road ensured Dean missed Sam's mouth again, this time bouncing the candy off Sam's cheek. Sam woke up, putting a hand to his cheek and looking around the car in confusion. Dean tried to hide the amusement in his voice,  
"You ok there Sammy?"  
Sam glared at Dean, frowning when he spotted the remaining M&M's in Dean's lap.  
"Funny guy…Where are we?"  
"Somewhere near break time. You hungry?"

The diner their route took them to looked old and unkempt from the outside, but with only one truck and one old ford parked up it was obviously not busy and that suited the two hunters just fine. Dean spotted the truck driver dozing in a corner booth, empty plate and newspaper on the table in front of him. The other customer, again male, was sat with an untouched glass of milk in front of him. He had the appearance of a travel weary sales rep who wasn't doing so well at off loading his product. The salesman openly stared at the two brothers. Dean gave the man a half smile and a nod, then sat himself down in a booth with his back to the man. Behind the counter sat a guy who looked like he should have retired decades before. He glanced up from the well thumbed porn mag he was flicking through, then turned his head to yell in the direction of the kitchen.  
"Maud….customers. Git out 'ere."  
Sam raised his eyebrows at Dean, his message clear, _"class joint."_

As they studied the very basic menu, Maud finally made her appearance. Sam was surprised to see she was younger than he had expected, guessing she'd not yet hit 40. She was clearly going for the Amy Whinehouse look with dark hair piled high in a messy beehive and makeup heavily applied. The bored look in her eyes disappeared when she spotted her new customers and Sam noticed how she straightened her stance, putting a little more sashay into her walk as she approached.  
"Well! Hello boys. My name's Maud and I'm all yours. See anything you fancy yet?"  
Amused, Sam gave the woman his most charming smile, no harm brightening her day for her.  
"Actually..Maud...Me and my _brother_ would love a coffee to start with and we'll just take it from there, shall we?"  
Hearing the undertone in Sam's voice, Dean looked up from the menu, first at Maud then flicking his gaze to Sam in a silent _"what the hell?"_ look. Sam had almost laughed out loud when Maud's smile grew wider as she picked up the fact that these two hunks were brothers, not partners.  
"Sure Honey. You two take your sweet time, I'm happy to enjoy the view."  
Hips now at full swing, Maud left to make their coffee. Dean watched her retreat,  
"Think you've scored a hit there Sammy."  
Sam shrugged,  
"No harm being nice, she looks like she could use some friendly chat. Anyhoo, you seem to have got your own fan club going."  
Dean frowned,  
"What're you talking about?"  
Sam lowered his voice and kept his eyes on the menu Dean had passed him.  
"The guy sat in the booth behind you? Hasn't taken his eyes off the back of your head since you sat down."

Dean turned to look at the guy. Sure enough, he had his focus fixed firmly on Dean, continuing to stare at him even though Dean was now looking directly back at him. For a few moments they locked eyes, with Dean showing a complete lack of concern in his expression before he turned back to Sam. When Dean spoke, he ensured his volume meant the guy would have no problems hearing him,  
"You're right Sam. He does seem to have developed a fixation on me. Can't say I'm surprised though. I am a damn fine looking hunk of manhood. S'understandable that it's not just the ladies who can't resist me. Obviously I must be a kinda Unisex God. Pity for him I don't pitch my tent in his campsite. Unrequited love, it's a harsh gig…don't you agree Maud?"

Maud watched through the window as the black Impala containing the best looking customers she'd seen in months pulled out of the car park. Ned watched her from his place behind the counter,  
"Seems you're sweet on them two, but if it's action you're after, I'm right 'ere Babe. Just you say the word."  
Maud turned, grimacing as she took in the "manly" package that was Old Ned.  
"Ned. The only word I'd use for you would make even you blush, you dirty old git."  
Ned smirked before turning his attention to the other customer stood waiting to pay. Ned quickly took the man's money and counted out the change. The guy was already half way to the exit when Ned held the cash out. Shrugging, Ned pocketed it, _There's somethin' freaky with that guy anyway, got him that cartoon accent an' some real creepy ass dead eyes._ He glanced at the booth the guy had been sat in, the glass of milk remained untouched.

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	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

Their route had it's pattern. More often than not they were avoiding the main freeways and staying off the radar by using lesser known, and often less well maintained, road systems. One thing was clear though, more and more they were travelling in a south easterly direction and towards the southern states. Sam was worried, it was obvious that Dean was becoming desperately tired. However, taking over the driving wouldn't allow Dean to sleep, he really was their one man SatNav. They had tried pulling off the road completely and stopping in the hopes of Dean grabbing a couple of hours at least but, as Dean pointed out when they set off again almost immediately, it's hard to sleep through boxes crammed full of grenades exploding inside your head.

They worked out that stopping for fuel when needed was ok. They even managed another coffee stop as an aid to keeping Dean going and found no pain overloads impacting on him. It was Sam who, eventually, voiced both their thoughts.  
"It's creepy, you know? It's like there's someone else in the car with us who knows what we're doing and when we're doing it. Somehow someone, or something, _has_ to be watching and deciding where and when it's ok for you to stop. Don't you think?"  
Dean's red rimmed and bloodshot eyes glanced in Sam's direction,  
"Actually, I was trying my hardest to _avoid_ thinking about it. Thanks a lot, bitch!"  
"No problem…The guy in that first diner, you know, your wannabe boyfriend? Think he's involved somehow? He was certainly interested in you."  
Dean's sigh was long and heavy,  
"Sam. Really. Right now I've all on remembering how to drive, let alone think about anything, except maybe how much I need to sleep. How about you be our official thinker? Just don't expect me to join in or even care."

Eventually they crossed the state line into Tennessee. A couple of times Sam had caught Dean driving with his eyes closed and as a result Dean was now heartily sick of Sam regularly thumping his shoulder and asking _"you still awake?" _When Sam did it yet again, Dean was ready to knock his head off his shoulders,  
"_**Stop it!"  
**_As though responding to Dean's shout, the Impala's engine suddenly cut out,  
"What the f..?"  
Dean managed to pull off the road before the car's momentum gave out and she ground to a halt. Dean looked at Sam, panic on his face,  
"Shit Sam. This could hur…"  
Before finishing his sentence Dean slumped forward over the steering wheel, body limp, eyes closed.  
"_Dean!"_

Sam pulled his brother towards him, laying Dean's head on his lap. A quick check told him that Dean's pulse and respirations were steady and strong. Even his temperature seemed ok. All the signs suggested that Dean was simply in a deep sleep and that he was being determinedly resistive to Sam's attempts to wake him. The car had come to a halt in an area bereft of buildings as far as Sam could see. On the immediate left the road was lined with heavy woodland. Over the road to the right stretched open countryside which eventually lead into steep hills and more dense areas of woodland. As Sam sat, unconsciously running his fingers through Dean's hair, he began to feel himself drifting. Unable to grasp hold of any reason to fight the feeling of rapidly growing weariness, Sam allowed himself to relax, his eyelids growing heavy. He became aware of movement in his peripheral vision and slowly turned his head towards it. Peering into the trees, he saw the shadowed figure of a man stood rock still, watching. Sam's last conscious thought, before he too collapsed sideways, was that there seemed to be something vaguely familiar about the man.

_Seeing Sam's head thump against the passenger window, the watcher moved toward the Impala, his gait oddly stiff. Ignoring Sam he opened the driver's side door. Reaching inside, he took hold of Dean, pulling the sleeping hunter away from his brother and out of the car. The man shifted Dean's position before carefully lifting him into his arms bridal style, seemingly unhindered as though Dean weighed no more than a small child. Emotionless eyes stared straight ahead as he turned and walked back into the woods, carrying Dean deeper into the gloom of the trees._

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	8. Chapter 8

**_A.N. This chapter dedicated to the following for their lovely reviews : _Rebecca 0, mb64 _and_ babyreaper. _Thank you guys!_**

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

Sam finally woke and shivered at the drop in air temperature, soon explained by the driver's side door of the car being left wide open and the added warmth from Dean's body having gone, along with Dean. Sam looked at his watch, surprised to realise that he had slept for over three hours. He turned in his seat, glancing around the immediate area outside the Impala, fully expecting to see Dean. Sam frowned when he didn't see his brother either getting something out of the trunk, or with his head under the bonnet checking out why the engine had suddenly cut out. Thinking maybe Dean had to answer the call of nature, Sam waited a while. When, after 10 minutes Dean hadn't returned, Sam got out of the car,  
"Dean? _Dean. _You ok? Answer me Dean…where abouts are you?"  
When there was no answer, Sam called again, louder this time. A tingle of concern began to run up his spine,  
"_**Dean!**_ _Stop pissing about,_ _**answer me**_**!"  
**Sam stood quietly, straining to hear any response. His concern began to build towards panic. With all his senses heightened Sam felt, _knew_, that Dean wasn't anywhere within shouting distance and dusk would soon be descending.

The bed Dean was lying on felt comfortable even though it was short, leaving his feet hanging in mid-air,  
"_Bed? How'd I get in a bed? Why aren't I in my baby?"  
_Pulling his feet back onto the bed he opened his eyes, and immediately screwed them closed again against a harsh, stark white light. He tried again, more carefully this time, allowing himself to adjust to the glare which came from directly above where he lay. Looking around he was surprised to discover he was laid on an old fashioned day bed, really more of a sofa than a proper bed. Sitting up, he was disquieted to note that he and the day bed appeared to be central to a defined circular patch of lumination, as if he were under a spot light. Beyond the edge of the small pool of brilliance which contained him, everything was pitch black. Disorientated, Dean tried to gather his thoughts. He remembered being in the Impala with Sam, the engine suddenly cutting out, steering the car into the roadside before it came to a slow halt. He recalled starting to say something to Sam, but that was as far as his memory of events went. _Sam! _Dean swung his legs off the day bed and began to stand.

"Please, I would be extremely grateful if you were to remain seated Mr Winchester. One of my…_people_ will attend you. I have been very much looking forward to meeting you."  
Ignoring the request, Dean stood himself up to his full height.  
"That so? Why're you hiding in the dark then? I'm guessing you're the irritating bastard who's been screwing with my head. Let me see you so I know who's ass I'm gonna be kicking, you fuck."  
"Goodness! I had expected you to be a little, dare I say, rough around the edges; but really Mr Winchester, your language is unacceptable here. You and I will meet face to face very soon, but for now…_**SIT DOWN!**_"

The order echoed around Dean and was accompanied by a powerful blast of arctic air which hit him centre chest, forcing him back down onto the day bed with a gasp of shock. Dean leaned forward, both hands clasped to his sternum, pushing against the lingering sensation caused by the burst of cold so icy that it burned.  
"Jeeze…what the hell are you? What do you want from me?"  
"Questions, and whatever answers it may please me to give, will have to wait until dinner. I am not so old fashioned that I expected you to arrive dressed in the appropriate manner, I understand that is no longer the requirement. However, as I have a preference for the old ways, you will change your clothes into those which my man will bring to you."  
"Your man?"  
"Indeed. I should warn you, he has a tendency towards being the strong silent type."  
Dean shook his head,  
"Please don't tell me you've put me and….put me through all this just cos you wanted a dinner date? You could've just posted a formal invitation, you know?"  
The only sound Dean heard in response was a soft shuffling noise heading towards him. Holding his breath, Hunter's senses on overdrive, Dean waited.

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	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE**

Sam opened the trunk of the Impala and stared at the array of weapons, herbs, charms and general tools of the Hunter's trade which were stored in there. Not knowing what they were up against, Sam grabbed a gun loaded with silver bullets and canister of salt. Securing the car he sent out to begin a painstaking search of the immediate area for any tracks which might at least tell him which direction Dean had taken, or been taken.

Dean stared up at the figure which stepped into the pool of light.  
"Hell in a hand basket! What are you? 6' 10? Ever thought about basketball as a career?"  
The man gave no answer as he walked across to Dean, coming to a halt when he and Dean were virtually toe to toe. His personal space invaded, Dean began to cough and choke in response to the stench of mould and decay that permeated the man's old fashioned suit. Dean shuffled himself as far back on the daybed as he could, never taking his eyes off his new companion. He noticed how loosely the suit hung off the man's tall, gaunt frame, how translucent and delicate as tissue paper in appearance the man's skin looked to be. The man's eyes were sunk deep into their sockets, hidden so far in shadow that Dean couldn't discern the colour. He was completely bald headed, added to which Dean realised that the man had neither eyebrows nor eyelashes. There was no indication of any facial hair whatsoever. What there was, however, was a row of thick, black, untidy looking stitches completely sewing the creature's lips together.  
"Sonofa…..what the hell kinda freak _are_ you? Zombie?...Ghoul? You're so _not_ human….not in decades anyway and, honestly? That stench? You _reek_ of the old grave dude!"  
The stitches around the creature's mouth appeared to pull, twist and stretch in a bizarre formation. Horrified, Dean realised the thing was attempting a smile.  
"Oh man! That's _so_ gross."

The creature dropped a pile of neatly folded clothing onto the bed next to Dean and pointed at it before taking a step back and crossing it's arms, waiting. Dean looked at the clothes, then back at his new friend, and decided that he didn't want to play. As he stood, adrenaline began coursing around his body, preparing for fight or flight.  
"You want me to put those on huh? Ok, but you gotta turn away, and no peeking!"  
The creature looked to consider Dean's request, then slowly turned his head away. With no clue as to the layout of his wider surroundings, flight won and Dean ran for the cover of dark.

Literally running blind, Dean had managed to traverse only a few yards when he felt a pressure descend, covering him completely and forcing him to the ground. Almost immediately Dean felt the whispered touch of many hands. They began to caress and stroke him, flinging Dean back into his own nightmare. Unintelligible whispers encircled him and Dean began to fight for breath as something without true form or structure wheedled itself into his mouth and nose. Others of it's kind tugged and pulled at Dean's clothing, trying to find a way inside as he lay helpless, unable to cry out, fighting to draw breath. Dean felt himself losing ground, his thoughts and movements slowing from the lack of oxygen, his eyes closing. Dean desperately hoped that Sam was ok. That his brother would survive longer than it seemed he himself was going to. Oxygen reserves close to depleted, Dean began to give in. In his final moments of awareness, something more solid felt as though it was grasping each of Dean's shoulders and he felt himself being dragged upwards.  
"_I'm sorry Sammy."_

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	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN**

Sam kicked at the trunk of a tree in frustration before leaning with his back against it to take stock. He estimated that he had searched the woods in all directions from where the Impala was parked, fanning out to roughly a quarter of a mile into the woods. If there were any tracks to be found, he was certain he would have spotted them. As it was, there was nothing to signal that Dean, or anyone else for that matter, had headed into the trees from the Impala. Ringing Dean's mobile had proven just as fruitless as, with an infuriated curse, Sam discovered his phone unable to pick up a signal in the area. Logic told him that either Dean had been taken against his will, or that they had to be somewhere near their destination. If they weren't, and Dean had somehow turned into a _complete_ moron wandering off alone, Sam expected to have found him close by either collapsed or in screaming pain from one of the freaky headaches which had been keeping them on track.  
"Shit. Shit_shit__**shit**_! Shit."  
The sky was growing discernibly darker, he looked at his watch.  
"_**Shit!"  
**_Sam had easily been a couple of hours carrying out his search. That was two hours that Dean had been in the hands of whoever, or whatever, had been plaguing his sleep and enforced their journey to the Middle-of-Nowhere, Tennessee. Sam checked his phone yet again. Just as he expected, still no signal. Resisting the urge to simply throw the damn phone into the trees, Sam began to head back to the car.

Airways free of the unnatural invasion, Dean instinctively began to fill his depleted lungs with deep shuddering gasps, which in turn served to immediately make him light-headed. He felt himself being dumped none too gently onto the familiar surface of the day bed. Dean lay still, refusing to open his eyes just yet; although he very quickly changed his mind when he felt large hands fumbling with his clothes.  
"_Hey_! Get your oversized paws off me Lurch. What the fuck do y…."  
A heavy backhander had Dean dazed and seeing stars. With Dean semi-conscious, his guard began to strip him of his clothes. Even as he lay in a stupor, Dean continued to batter ineffectively at any part of the creature that came within reach, eventually earning himself another crack across the face, accompanied by a quick nap.

A low groan signalled Dean's return to awareness. When he opened his eyes it was to see his guard stood watching him. Dean began to carefully shuffle himself up into a seated position.  
"You _do_ know how creepy that is, don't you? Just staring like that?"  
The guard continued to watch him.  
"Ok…I guess you don't."  
Dean glanced down at himself and at the black evening suit and dress shirt that he was now wearing.  
"And this? Even creepier dude. I just hope you behaved like a gentlemen."

Dean stood, pulling the jacket and shirt straight. He was discomforted to note how well the clothes fit him. He looked around, then back at the guard.  
"What've you done with my gear?"  
In answer, the creature moved to the edge of the circle of light then looked at Dean, clearly expecting Dean to join him. Dean hesitated, not keen to rush back into the darkness where those _things_ hovered.  
"How am I supposed to follow you? I can't see shit in that dark. Also? It didn't go to well last time I tried it if you remember?"

Dean stared as the creature held out a hand to him.  
"You have got to be kidding? You want me to hold your freakin' hand? Man, that is _so_ not happening. No way am I holding hands with a guy, _especially_ a dead one. Jeeze, I gotta get me a normal life! Ok…I'm gonna hold the back of your jacket, alright? Just don't get any funny ideas big boy."  
With a look of disgust Dean grasped the back hem of the creature's dilapidated jacket, shuddering at the slight slimy feeling the mildew caused in the material.  
"Oh, crap. You know, you really should launder more often. After you, Grave Meat."

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	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

Once back at the Impala, Sam hopefully tried his phone again.  
"_**Stupid**_ ass phone…stupid ass trees! Just gimme a friggin' signal will you? Fucking piece of _**crap!"  
**_Tossing the object of his growing exasperation onto the passenger seat, Sam pulled a map book out of the Impala's glove compartment.  
"Ok…there _has_ to be some point of civilisation where I can get a damn signal _somewhere_ along this Godforsaken route."  
With a _"hah" _of triumph Sam stabbed the map with his finger,  
"Got you!"  
Sitting behind the wheel, Sam offered up a quick prayer to anyone who might be listening and held his breath as he turned the key in the ignition. He grinned widely as the Impala's engine purred alive and patted the dashboard.  
"Good girl. Now, lets go find your boyfriend."

Dean shuffled carefully behind his guide who appeared to have no problem what-so-ever negotiating his way through the dark. To his relief there was nothing pawing at him in the dark this time. Concentrating on feeling for any obstacles with his feet, Dean didn't notice his guide had come to a halt until he collided nose first with the creature's back, breathing in a lung full of his guide's decaying stench,  
"Phew! Oh crap. That stink's making my eyes water man. How can you live with it? They've invented this thing called deodorant, you know? You could do with a bucket load of it, really!"

The pitch black darkness was suddenly broken as the creature opened a doorway into a room lit by candlelight. Placing a hand on Dean's back, he propelled Dean into the room before following and turning to close the door after them. Dean stood blinking, giving his eyes time to adjust. Even soft candlelight seemed dazzling after the darkness which now lay outside the room. Getting his bearings, Dean saw that he was in a sizable dining hall, the centre of which was dominated by a highly polished walnut dining table designed to seat twenty. Although there was no sign of windows in the hall, the walls were richly decorated with breathtaking tapestries, all of which appeared to show various hunting scenes. Something about the nearest one to Dean drew his eye. He looked at the fleeing prey, blinked and looked again. The scene showed men on horseback, all bearing swords, and all chasing after a werewolf. A quick glance confirmed that in all the tapestries depicted prey that was a supernatural creature of one kind or another.

Dean switched his focus towards the end of the hall furthest away from himself where he saw a huge stone hearth in which a fire was dancing merrily. In front of the fire stood a figure in silhouette. On the table in front of where the figure stood, there were two places set in apparent readiness for a meal.  
"Mr Winchester! Welcome! Such a difference from earlier. They do say that clothes maketh the man and, I must say, you carry that suit extremely well"

Having heard only his own voice for a while, his host's cheery sounding greeting startled Dean and he glared angrily towards the owner of the voice; the voice which he recognised as being the one that had been plaguing both his dreams and his waking hours.  
"Quit talking to me like I'm an old friend and lets get down to business. Who the fuck are you? Why've you gone to so much trouble to get me here and, _most_ importantly, _what've you_ _done with my brother, shit for brains?"_

Dean's host took two steps towards him. When he spoke, the change in the tone of his voice sent a chill down Dean's spine..  
"Final warning Sir….I will _**not**_ have that language used in my presence. Do I make myself very clear?"  
Dean smirked.  
"And what if I don't give a camel's ass what you _will _and _won't _have? What're you gonna do about it? Throw me out, _cock sucker_?"

Dean couldn't be entirely certain, but right before the pain exploded in his head he thought that he had seen his host's eyes glaze over into pure white, just for an instant. Dean stumbled backwards, and instantly felt strong hands grip both his shoulders, using their hold on him to firmly begin to manoeuvre Dean towards the host, depositing him ungracefully on a dining chair at one of the set places. Once seated, the pain inside his head rapidly began to fade. Dean focused a look of sheer fury at his host as the man sat himself down at the second set place. Pale cold eyes, empty of any emotion, returned Dean's stare impassively.  
"Please don't force me to have to do that to you again Mr Winchester…Dean…It gives me no pleasure, none what-so-ever. May I offer you a drink? I hope you like Port, I think you will find this particular one is a tad more fiery than the brands which I imagine you are used to."  
The host reached for a decanter full of deep, rich, ruby liquid as he spoke. Dean covered his glass with his hand.  
"No thank you. Not my kind of poison…..pun entirely intended."  
The host responded with a tight lipped smile,  
"As you wish, although you have my word that it is perfectly safe."  
"And, of course, your word means _**so**_ much to me…..Where's my brother?"

Any answer Dean may have been given was suspended by the entrance of two males, each carrying large silver trays loaded with serving bowls, jugs, condiment pots and breads.  
"Ah. Dinner. Excellent."  
Dean swore internally as his stomach betrayed him, growling in response to the idea of food. He focused his attention on the two men bearing the trays. Aside from being of a much more average height, there were some obvious similarities between them and Dean's guard. Clearly, this pair were also well past their sell by date.  
"What is it with you and zombies? It can't be anything to do with their delicate aroma."  
To Dean's surprise, his host laughed.  
"Dean, my dear. My people are not zombies! They are far beyond being the mere shuffling shell of something that once was. My people are intelligent. They do not need me to give instructions for every step they take. _My _people retain both intelligent thought and a semblance of autonomy"  
"Ok…so what are they then? Cos it's obvious they shouldn't be walking around top side any more.  
"My honoured guest, these beings are Lytch. I assume you _do_ know what a Lytch is?"

Dean openly stared at his guard and the two waiters.  
"You've _gotta_ be yanking my chain! Lytches…Litchi…whatever; they don't exist. Well, except for in those geeky D&D monster books."  
The host watched the two creatures as they began to place food containers on the table in front of himself and Dean.  
"Well, the evidence would appear to disagree with that theory…What say you?"  
Dean stared at the creatures again, his mind racing, recalling what he could from his limited knowledge of the world of fantasy role play games.  
"But….if that's true, then that would make you a…"  
"Necromancer. Well done Dean. _Very_ well done. By the way dear boy, _**do**_ try the stuffed mushrooms, I promise you will simply adore them."

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_A.N. **Lytch** : Old gateway, usually stone, leading into church grounds and through which coffins containing the dead were carried into the church. _

_**Lytch Road** : AKA "The way of the dead."_


	12. Chapter 12

_A.N. Hi Rebecca) & babyreaper. Love that you're joining in! Rebecca, did your idea of what was going off turn out to be right? Also, a big thank you to everyone else who is following this wee tale. Hope it's going ok for you._

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

Dean's glare was angry, incensed and promised harsh, cold, murder. He pushed his chair away from the table. As he stood, he slammed both hands palms down on the table causing glasses and cutlery to bounce.  
"_**Stuff**_ your stuffed mushrooms and stop kidding yourself that I'm a guest. I don't_ want_ dinner, I want _**answers**_! Tell me what you've done with my brother….and then tell me what the _**fuck**_ you want from me! _COMPRENDE_ _**Douche Bag?"**_

Senses heightened, Dean caught movement in his peripheral vision. Without taking his eyes off the host, one hand shot out, rattle snake fast and grabbed the carving knife off a platter of meat. The host stiffened as the carving knife ended up being held across his throat.  
"Stay out of this Lurch, or your master won't be able to wear a bow tie anymore! _You_…call your creature off."  
"As you wish….Stand down Mr Lang. I won't be needing your assistance at present."  
Dean risked a quick glance in the direction of the Lytch who now stood still and expressionless. He turned back to the Necromancer, who looked back at Dean calmly.  
"You do realise, I assume, that your blade won't kill me? You do know that, do you not? So, that being the case, I am sure you must realise that all your strutting and threatening is entirely pointless really. Would you agree?"  
"Well, I'm not so sure. Tell you what. Either you give me some answers, or we can carry out a fun experiment and see how well you cope without a head!"  
As Dean spoke, he pressed the knife more firmly against the Necromancers neck. The host sighed.  
"I admit, such an event could be a tad inconvenient for a short time. But I assure you, an inconvenience is _all_ it would be. Please, sit down. Sit down and you have my word that I will answer your questions as fully and honestly as I am able. You see? Even with this little fracas, I am prepared to remain civilised about all this Dean. I even comprehend your need for, and forgive, the crude language on this occasion. Dean? Please?"

Dean hesitated, then slowly sat, ensuring that he kept the carving knife on view, it's blade pointing toward the Necromancer. Dean was totally prepared to _be_ an inconvenience at any given moment.  
"Thank you Dean, I appreciate this. Now then…I believe your first concern was for your brother?"  
"Where is he? If you've harmed him…"  
"Believe me Dean. If your brother has come to any harm it is not by my hands, or by my command. I have absolutely no need of him and, truth be told, no interest in him. When you were brought here, your brother was left sleeping peacefully in your automobile. Anything which may, or may _not_, have befallen him since that time has nothing what-so-ever to do with me. In all honesty, and I mean no offence, he was and indeed remains, irrelevant to me"

Dean considered the host. If what he said was true, that meant Sam was still out there somewhere. And whilst so ever Sam was free, that meant hope. Dean tried to read the host's face, looking for any clue to indicate the host was lying about Sam.. He saw nothing. Dean allowed the small possibility to ignite that the Necromancer might actually speaking the truth and that Sam really was safely on the outside of this place, in no danger. Despite the recognition that he himself was still just as screwed as he was before, it mattered much less to Dean provided his brother was safe.  
"Ok…say that's true. Next question. Why am I here? What do you want from me?"

A distinct feeling of unease flooded through Dean as he saw a broad smile blossom on the Necromancer's face.  
"Ahh, Dean. In much the same way as your brother is irrelevant to me, _**you**_, my precious one, are _extremely_ valuable to both myself and, I dare say, to all others of my kind."  
"**_Why_**_for Chrissake_?"  
"Why? Oh...my dear boy! Can it really be that you do not realise what you are? What you've become? Oh...oh, now this is just _too_ amusing."  
"Glad you're having fun! Now, how about you stop playing with yourself and just tell me what you're freakin' babbling on about?"  
The Necromancer chuckled.  
"As you wish, I only hope that knowing will be of help to you in some way...Correct me if I am wrong; but were you not in Hell a little while ago, courtesy of a deal made at a cross-roads?"  
"Yeah, I know the story, what's your interest?"  
"My interest, Dean, does not lay in your deal, nor in your time in Hell. What makes you so special, so _unique_ and by that, so very valuable to me and those of my kind; is the simple fact that you died and yet here you are, returned. Tell me...Has it truly never occurred to you Dean? My beautiful boy...Surely you must realise that to die and be raised again can mean only one thing? Dean, you yourself now walk this earth as one of the living dead!"

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	13. Chapter 13

_A.N. Hi ccase13, nice to have you here _

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

Sam found himself struck by a series of conflicting emotions as he passed the road sign painted with it's cheery **"Welcome To Ruby Falls!"** He told himself it was just a place name, it didn't intend to be of any significant meaning to him personally and, no, it shouldn't raise his anxiety levels any higher than they were already. It didn't stop the linked thoughts, wishes and memories though and, thinking about Ruby, naturally came around to the last time he lost Dean. Sam shook his head _No!_ _This's different. He's not gone to Hell, he's just…..gone._  
"I'll find you Dean. I will!"  
Parking the Impala up, he reached to the passenger seat and picked up his phone.

For a brief moment Dean was stunned into silence as his mind rapidly considered the Necromancer's words. When he did begin to move, it was too late. Predicting Dean's likely reaction, the Necromancer had already signalled the Lytch with a miniscule tilt of his head, and Dean felt the heavy hand of Mr Lang grasp his upper arm. Pointless though it was, Dean still tried to shrug the creature's hand off him whilst shaking his head at the Necromancer.  
"You're wrong..."  
"Do you deny that you were raised from the dead?"  
"Yes….No…No, but that was different. I wasn't just raised from the dead….I was brought back to _life_!"  
"And the difference?"  
" The _difference_, Shithead, is that I was brought back by an _Angel_."  
"Oh, Dean...I really don't think it matters who, or _what_, raised you. The simple fact is that you _were_ raised. I willingly acknowledge, though, that you _are_ unique amongst your kind. Who knows what the full effect will be? Although, I truly believe that it will be glorious!"  
"Effect? On what, jackass?"  
The necromancer smiled broadly at Dean,  
"On _**me**_ of course! On my powers! I will take on your life force and I will gain full immortality. I will become the leader of my kind, the most powerful Necromancer there has ever been...because _I_ found you first."  
Dean gave a short laugh,  
"You make it sound like you've won a race. You mean there's _more_ of you freaks to gank? Hey, bring it on shithead, pigs to the slaughter!"  
As he spoke, Dean forced himself to relax under the hold of the Lytch, to the extent that he showed no overt signs of any further resistance on his part. He felt the Lytch respond, felt that miniscule adjustment in the firmness of it's grip on his shoulder. Dean instantly took advantage of this small chance.

"Please….let it still be turned on. Let me know where you are Dean. Come on…come on…**YES!**"  
Sam quickly texted the newest set of co-ordinates to Bobby, along with a message.  
**D takn. Goin aftr.  
**Starting up the engine, Sam span the Impala round and began to drive steadily back the way he had come, looking for that which he had previously missed.  
"Whoever or whatever's got you brother, they'd just better pray they're ready to face _me_."

Dean threw himself off his chair and dropped to the floor, catching the Lytch by surprise. As he dropped, Dean employed a leg sweep, knocking the Lytch's feet out from under it. As the Lytch fell, Dean pounced, carving knife still in hand. The body of the Lytch continued to twitch and struggle, whilst it's head rolled under the dining table. Dean spun around, switching his attention to the Necromancer and, without pause, hurled the blood and pus covered knife with deadly accuracy straight towards the Necromancer's face.

Responding with lightening speed, the Necromancer put a hand, palm out, in front of his face. A flicker of pain twisted his mouth as the knife embedded itself into his palm, half the length of the blade emerging out the back of his hand. The Necromancer turned his hand this way and that, looking curiously at the knife stuck through it, then he focused his attention on Dean who was, by now, on his feet and backing towards the door.  
"This evening is not over Mr Winchester..._not over by a long way_. Mr Hyndes, if you would be so kind?"

Dean turned to confront whoever the Necromancer was addressing. Unfortunately for him, the fist belonging to Mr Hyndes was already heading Dean's way. Dean was out cold before he hit the floor in an untidy heap. The Necromancer strolled over and looked down at the unconscious Hunter.  
"So much fire. He truly is magnificent."  
The Necromancer removed the carving knife from his own hand in one swift movement. Bending, he wiped it's blade clean on the shirt Dean wore, then he coldly embedded the knife in Dean's left shoulder. Dean's head turned slightly and he gave a soft moan in response, before laying still again.  
"Take him to the study. Prepare and restrain him, then wait there for me."

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A.N._ Yes, **"Ruby Falls"** is a real place in the area in which I've set this story. Imagine the size of my grin when I spotted it! I just had to get it into the story somehow.  
__Chick xx_


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

Sam was driving along the edge of the road at a snail's pace, his attention fixed on spotting any sign of an old entry point into the forest. He was so focused on his search that, when his phone rang, Sam shot back in his seat with a startled yelp. He glanced at the caller ID before answering, talking as he continued to crawl along in the edge of the road.  
"Bobby."  
"What? You think you can send me a text like that an' I'm not goin' to call you? What the hell's happening an' why're you idjits in Tennessee?."  
Sam sighed.  
"Hang on, let me pull up. Ok. Long story short. Dean was having dreams, well…kinda dreams. Turned out someone, something, was planting them in his head. Then he started getting messages even when he was awake, all designed to get us…him…to go find the source. When we set out we'd no idea where we'd end up. We just followed the directions comin' over Dean's new intercranial SatNav. That's why I kept sending co-ordinates to you, so you would know where we ended up if…..you know…"  
"You mean if somethin' happened? Mebbe somethin' say, like Dean bein' taken? How'd _that_ happen?"  
"Uh…..spell maybe? We were both in the car, I fell asleep, woke up to no Dean and no tracks to give any clues. I've had to drive aways to get a phone signal. I'm pretty sure I've got Dean's location and thought I'd better text you before I lose the signal again. I'm heading back towards where we'd parked up, there's gotta be an old entry point into this damn forest, I just didn't spot it first time around. I was kinda in a hurry."  
"Well, if it helps, I'm pretty sure I know what you're up against."  
"_What_? How?"  
"My top secret and highly honed psychic abilities obviously, moron!"  
"_Bobby_….!"

"No big deal really. Every time you sent co-ordinates, I went on-line looking for anythin' weird or supernatural sounding happenin' in that area. Hit the jackpot around where you are now."  
"So? What did you find?"  
"Grave robbers. Past six months or so there's been a spate of coffins being dug up an' the contents goin' missin'. Only thing linking 'em as far as I can see is they were all male, all around 40 to 45 when they quit breathin'. Freshest one died around 18 months ago."  
"Ok….so, are we talking zombies then?"  
"Don't think so. I think you're looking at something much more autonomous, more self aware. Way less _find, eat, find, eat_, shuffle along with my arms stuck out front."  
"Shuffle along? I think you're getting yourself confused with the Evil Dead films old man. Not zombies then. What _do_ you think we're facing?"  
"You ever heard of Lytch?"  
"Come again?"  
"You heard me...Lytch."

Sam thought briefly, taking himself back to his time at Stanford.  
"Yeah, at collage. One of my group was a mad keen D&D player."  
"D&D?"  
"Dungeons 'n Dragons. Bobby, hate to be the one to break this to you but, Lytch aren't _real_. They're just part of some fantasy role play game."  
"Well, whoever invented that game knew something you didn't 'cos I'm tellin' you, boy, Lytch _do_ exist and just to add to the fun, where's there's Lytch I can guarantee you, there's a Necromancer."  
"_Necro…?_ Shit!"  
"Yup, a great big pile of the stuff…..and Dean had to go stand smack bang in the middle of it."  
"What makes you think Lytch Bobby?"  
"Videocam recording. Local police set a couple up in one of the graveyards after two bodies went missin' hoping to film the perps in action an' get an ID."  
"I assume they were successful then?"  
"Yeah. Managed to ID one of the diggers as well. Name of Ray Lang. Trouble is', he was ID'd by his _widow_. Ray was one of the missing bodies. When I watched the tape the guy moved smoothly, he didn't act like he was on auto-pilot. Spent some time looking round, as if he was searching for the right kind of corpse to dig up, and he was bein' careful, like he understood there was a risk of bein' seen."  
"Bobby. This thing...it specifically targeted Dean."  
"Yeah, well, it'll not be for any _good_ reason. Necromancer's are soul stealers. They take other people's life force, or souls, for themselves. Helps keep them damn near immortal. I guess that brother of yours must be walking around with one tasty soul to attract the undivided attention of a Necromancer."  
"Given that his soul's been to Hell and back, it would make sense it stands out I suppose….."  
"_**Fuck! **Of course!** Sonovabitch!"  
**_"Bobby? What?"

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	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

"Listen Sam. This guy, Necromancer; if I'm right about this and he somehow knows that Dean died but has been brought back, my guess is he sees Dean as one of the undead."  
"Bobby?….Is he right? Is that what Dean is?"  
"_Idjit boy!_ Of course not! Dean's….._Dean._ Sam, Dean wasn't just _raised, _he was brought back to _life_, complete, all of him. That's his soul, disgusting habits, potty mouth and everything else. And, it was an _Angel_ who did that, not just some shit eating Necromancer!"  
"Ok, so...given what we know about undead fuglies, they don't usually come gifted with more than average intelligence and I've certainly never met one with a soul."  
"Exactly! So as far as the Necromancer is concerned, Dean is unique. An undead with a soul and all his brain cells intact. Our guy would likely be desperate to take that soul for himself. Probably hoping it will guarantee full immortality an' make him the most powerful Necromancer around."  
"Right. Fine. Now, how do I kill it? Time's moving on Bobby."  
"First, remember he won't be alone. He's been creating himself some Lytch. They're not so hard to deal with, fire, decapitation. Either will do. When it comes to the Necromancer though, there's no point targeting him direct. You'll need to grab his phylactery and destroy that. It's the only way.  
"Er…..grab his what exactly?"  
"His phylactery….It'll be some kind of container, you know, box, locket whatever…."  
"Oh, good. That's a relief!"  
"Ha ha, how droll! Necromancers have to keep their own souls out of harm's way. To kill a Necromancer you have to release the things own soul. Once released, it'll re-enter the Necromancer, and then he can be killed like any other human."  
"Great. Sound easy. I'll just go get on with it then."  
"Don't you be complacent boy. Necromancers are high end evil bastards. They're also spell casters. You go in careful and you watch your ass. You're no good to Dean if you get yourself caught."  
"Point taken. Thanks Bobby, for everything. Wait to hear from me later. If I don't call…..well, at least you'll know where we were."  
"Yeah…sure. Sam? Good luck son."

Half a mile on, Sam pulled up again, certain he was in roughly the right area,  
"Gotta be around here somewhere."  
Climbing out of the Impala, Sam stepped back into the middle of the narrow road, looking higher, checking the actual tree line.  
"Yaztee! There you are!"  
He walked the few yards down the road to where he had spotted a gap between the line of trees which formed the outer edge of the forest. Had he been simply looking on a level out of the Impala window, he might have completely missed the old driveway entrance, designed as it was more for horse and carriage than for a 67 Chevy. In front of where Sam now knew the gap in the trees to be, and where they could make the most of any sunlight, the area had been taken over at ground level by shrubs, tall ferns and long grasses.

Shoving his way through, Sam made a pathway through the ferns, gauging how compact the shrubbery was at various points and how far in it was before the majority of ground cover began to thin out again and give way to the shade created by the tall trees. Once he reached that point, it was easier for him to spot the path through the trees which indicated the direction the old driveway would have taken.

Returning to the car, Sam glanced again at the shrubs and cringed. Not happy to leave the Impala parked at the roadside, there was only one alternative. Sam hoped Dean would be understanding, given that he was about to try to rescue his older brother and was simply reducing the chance of the Impala being stolen or ransacked on top of everything else. Surely the inevitable few dents and scratches would be overlooked? Sam shook his head in answer to his own thoughts. As he started up the engine and prepared to attempt to drive Dean's baby off the road and out of sight, Sam consoled himself with the thought that being on the receiving end of the wrath of Dean Winchester would at least mean that Sam had succeeded in his mission. Pointing the Impala at the area he knew to be the least dense section of shrubs and groundcover, Sam began driving her steadily forward.

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	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

Pain was the first thing Dean noted as he ventured back to awareness. A nerve jangling, pulsating fire of a pain which appeared to be emanating from muscle and flesh in the area of his shoulder. Still with his eyes closed, Dean tried to recall how his shoulder had come to be injured. An explanation defied him, but he _did_ recall the quick glimpse he'd had of a fist travelling toward his face, and of the events leading up to that moment.

He forced himself to focus beyond the pain and, instead, concentrate on listening, seeking out the smallest sound which may tell him whether he was alone or not. In fact, it was eerily quiet. What he did pick up, however, was a familiar odour. It was the not so subtle scent that signified mould and decay. The sickeningly, oversweet, pungent smell he so frequently met as he and Sam opened another coffin. The same smell which had clung to the Lytch he had _Recently?_ decapitated. Given the stench, Dean decided it was unlikely he was alone. He turned his attention back in on himself. The surface beneath his back felt solid and flat _Floor? Table?_ A slight flex of his muscles told him that his arms were stretched out to either side from his body, a twist confirmed each wrist was secured in place by something inflexible. Cautiously trying to move a leg affirmed that he had also been secured at the ankles. In addition to all this, Dean realised that he was naked from the waist up. The difference in his body temperature reassured him that he still had his pants on, for which he was immensely grateful. Making his escape butt naked was not high on his list of "how I want my life to be." But then, neither was being held captive by Dr Frankenstein and his monsters. Dean decided it was time to open his eyes.

Dean couldn't help the surge of panic that ran through him when all around him remained pitch black and for an awful moment he wasn't certain that his eyes had actually opened. He was instantly fearful that, just like in his nightmares, his eyes had been sewn closed. He began rapidly blinking his lids together, the action filling him with relief. He waited a moment, expecting his eyes to adjust and to pick up any source of light, however small, only to realise that wherever he was, he was surrounded by complete and utter darkness. The realisation gave him no comfort. Suddenly, Dean flinched as he felt the unexpected contact of a cold hand lightly caressing his stomach.

"Who the fuck is that?"  
"_Shhhhh."  
_"Screw you. Get _off_ me."  
The glide of the hand continued. Angrily, Dean tried to twist away from the intrusion, but the hand moved to grasp his hip firmly, stopping him.  
"_Relax little one…Hush now, hush."_

Dean was surprised to hear a female voice. He tried again to shift away as the chilled hand once more began to gently move over him, but couldn't. His whole body had begun to feel heavy, leaden and tired.  
"Please...Who are you? What do you want?"  
"_We want to be warm."_

Abruptly, Dean stilled as the sensation changed and he felt the additional soft touch of other hands, too many for Dean to focus on.  
"_That's right child. Still now, stay still."  
_Another shift, the brush of hands becoming colder, like ice running over his skin. Dean moaned as the cold began to feel like fire and the pressure of the hands upon him began to increase; until it felt as though they were trying to push right through his skin and drive their way inside. Over Dean's cry of hurt and horror, a new, but familiar, voice sounded.  
"_**Be gone!"  
**_Dean cried out again as nails began to dig and claw at him, as though desperately trying to keep a hold on him.  
"_**EGO EXPELLO THEE UT ABYSSUS!"  
**_Dean screwed his eyes closed as a sudden torrent of hot wind blasted over and around him. The sound of high pitched screeches assaulted his ears as the ghostly hands were torn away and banished. He heard his own choked gasp, then nothing...

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_A.N. Reviews & feedback are a brilliant motivator _:D


	17. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

Satisfied the Impala was out of sight from the road, Sam parked up. Getting out of the car he inspected the front and sides.  
"Not too bad. Just a few scratches. Shouldn't take much to fix you up, I hope."  
He walked back to the large shrub he had found it necessary to partially drive through. Picking the bigger of the broken branches up off the floor, he laid them haphazardly back up against the shrub again, softening the impact of the damage caused in the hope that the casual observer wouldn't notice anything out of place. Task completed, he returned to the car and opened up the trunk. Casting his eyes over the array of weapons stored within, he carefully selected the items he hoped might prove most useful, relying on the information Bobby had provided. Locking the car again, Sam turned and began to follow the rough path which had once been the driveway up to the property.  
"Ready or not…here I come."

Keeping himself to one side of the driveway, Sam stayed within the shadow of the trees as he followed the twists and turns. Finally he came to a halt as the vista opened out before him. Kneeling, he stared towards the derelict and abandoned looking old plantation house. Innumerable weeds had taken hold, in their advance almost covering what had once been a short flight of impressive stone steps leading up to a large porch area and the imposing entrance doors. Where windows had once been, there were now rotting and warped wooden boards. Bright green streaks of mosses scarred the house walls. An ancient Virginia Creeper almost completely covered the wall to one side of the house, from where it enthusiastically roamed over the roof, it's progress unhindered. Here and there piles of stone and rubble marked areas where parts of the old place had crumbled and fallen away.

The sad beauty of the house bypassed Sam, his only concern being that of gaining entry without immediately attracting unwanted attention. Taking a small pair of binoculars from his jacket pocket, Sam scanned the area thoroughly. He saw no obvious signs that any attention was given to guarding the exterior, whether the result of carelessness or over-confidence on the behalf of the house's current occupier was irrelevant to Sam. It simply made it easier for him to race across what had once been a lawn and make his way directly up to the house itself. He huddled himself into a shallow alcove to one side of the entrance doors, effectively hiding himself from immediate view should anyone exit through the doors. Crouching down he took stock and mapped out his next move.

Not yet quite fully conscious, Dean tried to roll over onto his side. His breath hiccupped and his eyes flew open at the sudden jolt of pain the movement caused in his wounded shoulder. His initial confusion was quickly replaced by relief as he realised that he could see, a gift from the many candles set into sconces which lined the bare stone walls of the room. He turned his head to scan the area, and found himself staring into the ice blue eyes of the Necromancer who hovered uncomfortably close.  
"Mr Winchester…._Dean_. I am delighted to see you awake. I hope you will be pleased to hear that the spirits will not be bothering you again. I am afraid that they are an unfortunate side effect of opening the path between this world, and the next. Tell me, how are you feeling?"  
"Just peachy. And you?"  
Dean raised an incredulous eyebrow as his captor smiled and clapped his hands in apparent delight.  
"Why! Thank you for enquiring. Actually, I find myself feeling quite excited. All down to your good self of course."  
Dean presented a neutral expression, hiding a growing sense of unease at the Necromancer's reply.  
"Yeah. I have that effect on people, generally those of a female persuasion though."

For a brief instant the Necromancer looked baffled, then his eyes widened in realisation.  
"Oh! Oh, yes. I see. Very good. Very…._amusing_."  
Dean turned away from the man, beginning to check his surroundings,  
"Yeah that's me. I'm one funny guy….I see we've got company."  
Dean's gaze landed on three males, each stood stiffly to attention against one wall. Two of the three had their lips sewn closed and were showing no interest whatsoever in Dean, a blank expression on their face. The third however had not only been left with his lips stitch free, but despite the neutral expression on the creature's face, he seemed to be paying close attention to Dean.  
"Ah yes. Mr Lang's compatriots. I have not yet introduced you have I?"  
"Actually…the one on the end, he looks kinda familiar. Wouldn't by any chance have been hanging out at any diners recently, would he?"  
"Congratulations! Very well remembered Dean. Yes, Mr Willerton was observing you at a particular diner which I believe you stopped at. It is also Mr Willerton who kindly ensured your safe arrival here."  
"Remind me to thank him later. Are there more of them wandering around the place?"  
The Necromancer sighed,  
"In the beginning, there _were_ more of course. Unfortunately, as with any other selection process, sometimes the candidates…well, lets just say that they fail to live up to expectations and so, one rather reluctantly had to…_fire…_ them, as it were."  
Dean turned back to the Necromancer.  
"I'm guessing you mean that literally?"

Dean shifted his position slightly, wincing at the impact on his shoulder, then freezing as his captor ghosted his hand over the injured area.  
"I must apologise for this Dean. Please believe me when I say that I do try so very hard to control my temper. Unfortunately on this occasion I rose to your natural attempts to goad me."  
"Hey, my bad. Course, if you're after easing your guilt, it would feel a whole lot less painful if I weren't tied up, you know?"  
The Necromancer smiled sadly and shook his head.  
"Dean. You and I both understand that your bonds must remain in place. However, perhaps I do owe more than a verbal apology. If you will allow?"  
"That depends. You'll forgive my trust issues…allow what?"  
"Whilst I cannot yet heal the wound, I _can _take the pain away."

Dean held the Necromancer's gaze with his own as he considered the offer. Finally he nodded.  
"Guess I can't be any more screwed than I am already. Go ahead."  
Turning his attention to Dean's shoulder, the Necromancer gently placed both hands onto the knife wound, ignoring the feel of Dean flinching at his touch.  
"_Absit invidia. Absit Invidia. Absit invidia, magister dixit."_

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	18. Chapter 18

_A.N. Hi Rebecca0, any confusion caused is purely intentional :)_

_For you and anyone else who is still with me. Everyone is now is the same place and so the finish line is in sight. Just to clarify, I haven't yet decided what type of ending to go for. Success? Failure? Something in the middle? Oh…the power!_

_**Also – I have kept each chapter short on purpose, however, this one is especially short, please accept my apologies. If I win the fight for the computer with my other half, I am hoping to get the next chapter up today as well.** Chick x_

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

Sam extracted a machete from his rucksack. It was the same machete that Dean had used to demolish the ghoul which had attacked Sam on their previous hunt. A hunt which seemed like a lifetime ago. Now cleaned and re-sharpened, Sam carefully threaded it through the belt on his jeans where it hung in place held by it's handle. Next he selected a laser sighted Glock 23. It felt comfortable in his hand, like a natural extension of his own arm. He contemplated the cartridges, finally settling on silver. Figuring that whilst the silver may not have any specific effect on whatever he found inside, it was certainly just as effective on humans as any other bullet. He shoved a spare clip in a back pocket in his jeans. Leaving the canister of salt, flask of Holy water, couple of aerosol cans and a bottle of lamp oil in the bag, he grabbed his lock picks and a cigarette lighter. Finally he shoved a pocket knife safely into his boot and checked the batteries on a medium sized maglight.

Of course, he would have _liked_ to have been armed with a major league flamethrower, a couple of machine guns and to be leading a large body of highly skilled marines. Instead, he stood and took a deep breath before moving out of the alcove and directly up to the entrance doors. He hesitated briefly, before reaching out for the old bronze handle on one of the doors and giving it a gently push.

Sam wasn't overly surprised to find the doors locked. However, it wasn't a problem for very long. Now unlocked, he slowly began to push open one door, grimacing as he prepared himself for the horrendously loud creak which he felt sure was going to be next. He gave a small smile when he was able to silently open the door just wide enough for him to squeeze through. Senses on full alert, Sam stepped into the darkness beyond.

Dean felt a sensation like soft, fine, warm sand delicately settling over the site of the injury. He immediately noticed the persistent dull pain begin to die down, finally disappearing altogether. The Necromancer stepped back, smiling.  
"Better my friend?"

Dean angrily raised the upper half of his body up from the table as far as he could.  
"Cut the crap jerk. We're so far from friends I can't even describe…"  
His expression cold, the Necromancer reached out and roughly shoved Dean back down.  
"So be it _Mr Winchester_."  
He turned away from Dean's glare.  
"Mr Willerton, if you would be so good as to prepare the alter? I will be but a moment."  
The Necromancer turned on his heels and left the room. Dean wasted no time, immediately beginning to try to wrestle his wrists free from his bonds.

Sam pushed the door closed again behind him, cutting out the dim light which the glow of the weak moon had provided. He took a couple more steps forward, then stopped, waiting. There was no sudden attack in the dark, no sense that there was anything else in the area with him. Sam stood perfectly still, completely focusing on listening. His heart beat faster at the sound of something skittering across the floor a few yards away from him, until his head recognised the sound as some kind of rodent. _Come on Dean….give me a clue, make some noise._ _Help_ _me out here brother._

Carrying a large, ornate wooden reliquary box, Willerton walked unhurriedly to where Dean lay. He briefly stopped, calmly watching Dean's attempts to pull away from the straps holding him in place. Dean glanced up at the Lytch.  
"Er…Don't suppose you'd gimme a hand here?"  
Mr Willerton stared unblinking at Dean, then turned to the remaining two Lytch. With a low voice that sounded like the rustle of dried leaves, he spoke,  
"Bring it."

Fully aware that his time was growing short Dean stayed focused on his task, intentionally chafing the skin of his wrists against the straps until they began to bleed in the hope of making it possible to slip the bonds. He banged the back of his head against the table in frustration as, hands and wrists now slippery with blood, he was still unable to wrangle his way out of the restraints.

Completely ignoring the struggling Hunter, Mr Willerton's counterparts between them brought over a tall, flat topped lectern. The ebony wood gleamed in the candle light as they placed it at the head end of the table on which Dean lay. That done, one of the silent Lytch took the reliquary from Mr Willerton, holding it out whilst Mr Willerton opened the lid and began to remove the contents. Dean strained and twisted his head, trying to see what was happening.

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	19. Chapter 19

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

Sam hesitated as he prepared to do a sweep of his immediate surroundings with the maglight, knowing the action may alert the occupier to his presence. But, it was either that or fumble around lost in the dark and risk face planting over some unseen obstacle. Arming himself with the machete, he gave himself a mental " 1…2…3" before switching on the powerful narrow beam of the torch and swiftly sweeping it around the area, memorising as much as he could of what he saw before killing the light again. _"Ok. Main staircase ahead, two doors on my right,_ _open room with no floor to my left, pile of collapsed ceiling at 10 o'clock, remains of bookshelf or whatever at 11 o'clock, old fashioned day bed at 2 o'clock. Got it."_

Avoiding the obviously wrecked room which lead off the foyer area on his left, Sam headed for the two closed doors directly on his right. He paused, listening at the first door he came to until he was satisfied there were no sounds of movement coming from within. Letting the maglight hang from his wrist by it's strap, he slowly opened the door. He was immediately aware of a difference in the air temperature within the room, it felt warmer. Moving further in, Sam again switched on the torch. He found himself stood in what seemed to have been the main kitchen. For the most part the area was a ruin. Shelves hung haphazardly off walls. The stone floor was littered with broken crockery, there had obviously been a large soot fall in the old open fireplace, some of the stone floor flags were cracked and lifting and a thick layer of dust and grime covered almost everything….almost.

In the centre of the room was an old rough wood table. The table top at one end had obviously been cleaned down. The old, cracked porcelain sink had two large pans in it, both filled with water to soak off whatever had earlier been cooked in them. Sam walked over to an old fashioned range style oven, the source of the relative warmth within the kitchen. Clearly it had been used recently. Sam stared a moment confused, had Dean been dragged all this way just for a dinner party? Sam moved around the room but found nothing further of note in the kitchen. Turning off the torch again, he headed back into the foyer, _"Now for door number two."_

Feeling more confident that he was alone on this floor of the house, Sam was less hesitant when opening the second door. He was therefore surprised to find that the darkness within this room was not so profound, broken as it was by a low light emanating from the glowing embers and odd flickering of flames from a dieing fire. Stepping into what was obviously a sizable dining room, Sam closed the door behind him. As he looked around, he caught the scent of candles which had been in use not too long ago, and something else.

Sam's nostrils flared as he honed in on the awful and all too familiar smell of decomposing flesh. His glance swept over the central table, stopping at an array of serving platters still mostly full of food. The platters lay on the table around two places which had been set for dinner. One of the plates held the remains of a meal. Something on the floor attracted Sam's attention, and he found himself momentarily rooted to the spot as he made out the dark shape of something laying on the floor. It appeared to be a body, but even in the low light of the fire, Sam could tell there was something off about it.

Responding to a sudden surge of panic, Sam shone his torch light over the prone figure, the pumping of his heat slowing somewhat when he saw that it wasn't his brother. What he did see, however, was a corpse which was in an advanced stage of decomposition. It's legs were half hidden under the table; it's head was…_Somewhere else_? Sam noted the viscous fluids seeping out from the ends of the sleeves of the suit the corpse wore. The rotting flesh of the hands had already mostly come away, revealing skeletal fingers. Lighting up the floor area around the corpse, Sam grimaced as he found the head. What skin remained was darkened and shrivelled. The lower half of the skull was already exposed. Sam looked on in both horror and fascination as one eyeball slowly slid over the flesh of the cheek, leaving a trail of goo before slopping onto the floor. Turning away Sam swallowed the bile which burned at the back of his throat. Despite how grisly the sight of the corpse was, it also raised some hope in Sam, certain as he was that this was the work of his brother.

With renewed energy, Sam left the dining room, unaware when he walked in a patch of blood staining the floor where, earlier, his brother had lain.

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	20. Chapter 20

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

Dean watched as Mr Willerton checked the alter which he and the other two Lytch had set up.

"Your owner sure does like the classics."

Mr Willerton turned to look curiously at Dean, appearing to consider Dean's words.

"You know…the old black velvet and black candles in silver candle sticks. I'm betting there's even a fancy dagger and a silver chalice on there, right?"

Mr Willerton turned away from Dean, appearing to have lost interest. All three of the Lytch quietly stood themselves in a neat line at one side of the alter. Dean changed tact.

"Look at you three. You're just obedient dogs really. Gotta hand it to your master, he trains you slaves well. I bet your families would be proud of you if they could see you all now, don't you think?

At the mention of their families, Mr Willerton's eyes flicked again to stare impassively at Dean for a brief second. Dean pushed harder.

"Got kids Willerton? Think they know what daddy is now? Hey!…Maybe you should visit, let them see you, let them smell you. Course, if they did, then there'd probably be the whole running away, screamin' in terror 'cos Daddy's a freakin' brain dead Zombie. What d'you think? Oh….sorry. You_ don't_ think, do you? You just obey."

Dean saw Willerton stiffen whilst Dean spoke, but he was unable to draw any further reaction from any of the Lytch. With a sigh, he gave up trying to goad the threesome and returned to tugging at his bonds.

Sam paused in the dark of the foyer area before risking using the torch to check his route and gauge the distance to the bottom of the stairs. As he was about to flick the light on, he heard a sound from the floor above. It was the distinctive sound of a door closing. Sam held his breath as he waited, listening intently for any other noises, but hearing nothing. No matter, he was now sure of where he needed to be.

Relying on memory and instinct, Sam began to move cautiously across the foyer. It felt to Sam as if it was taking longer than it should to reach the first step on the staircase. He was beginning to wonder whether his judgement was off, when his exploring foot finally connected with the stairs. Keeping to the right, Sam lightly held onto the stair banister and began his blind ascent, mentally counting off each step as he climbed. At 22 there was suddenly no more banister under his hand. Sam stopped to consider his options. One course of action was to continue groping his way in the dark without any idea as to whether there were any obstacles laying in wait to trip him up, whether there were any further stairs in one direction or another, or whether, instead of a floor, he would take a nose dive through a hole where the floor had once been. Having come this far, Sam wasn't prepared to compromise his objective because of some stupid inane accident. He decided he had to risk scanning the area by torchlight briefly. What he saw was that the landing in front of him was carpeted. There were also two short flights of stairs, one going up from the left hand side of the landing, another matching set of steps going up to the right. Those on the left were almost completely hidden under broken lengths of wooden latts mixed in with plenty of dust, dirt and rubble. Sam shone his light at the ceiling, a huge hole signalled where the debris had originated.

Sam turned his attention to the right hand run of steps. They all had an area which was comparatively free from the years of dust and grime which covered the rest of each stair, suggesting that there had been movement up and down. Turning his light off, Sam made his way across the landing and began climbing to the next level which took him to the start of a wide corridor.

Sam paused again on reaching the top and looked down the corridor. Blinking his eyes, he stared again towards the far end, to where the blanket of dark had been lifted by the soft glow of four wall mounted candle lamps. Having fumbled around for so long in the dark, the sight gave Sam reason to smile. After years of hunting in the dark, the candles provided more than enough light for Sam to be able to pocket his torch. Doors ran along both sides of the corridor. Sam counted eight in total. The two at the end of the corridor being situated directly in the area of light. Logic told him that these were the doors most likely to lead him closer to Dean.

Sam had taken no more than a couple of strides along the corridor, when the left hand door within the candle lit area opened. Sam immediately crouched himself down, back against the wall, hoping that the dark at this end would hide him from a casual glance. He gripped the machete tighter, felt the reassuring pressure of the Glock against his lower back and watched as a tall figure came out of the room. The man had his back to Sam as he twisted to close the door after himself. It didn't matter. Relief flooded through Sam, he would recognise that jacket anywhere. He stood upright and raising his voice only a fraction, Sam gave a hissed call,

"_Dean!"_

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	21. Chapter 21

_A.N. Sorry for the delay, had to focus on writing a training pack ready to deliver yesterday. Real life! What a bitch._

**CHAPTER TWENTY ONE**

For a split second it appeared as though the figure had suddenly freeze framed, before he rapidly spun around to face Sam. Two thoughts cut through the relief Sam had felt at his first sight of the man's back. Those being _It's not Dean_ closely followed by _Crap…I'm so screwed! _The sheer rage in the stranger's expression seemed to pulsate in waves along the corridor towards Sam and he had the crazy urge to duck. Without a word, the man turned back on his heels and hurried to the door on the opposite side of the corridor. He quickly entered the room and firmly closed the door again. Shock hindered any movement as Sam stared at the door which the stranger had gone through. In his mind was the recent image of an older male, dark haired, sporting a goatee and, totally weirdly, wearing his brother's clothes. Sam had no doubt that he had just had his first unexpected and at this point, unwanted, first encounter with Bobby's Necromancer. His initial confusion as to why the bastard was wearing Dean's clothes gave way to a rush of anger fuelled adrenaline and Sam headed swiftly down the corridor towards the door his target had gone through.

Dean gave up. There was no way he was getting out of these bonds. All he could do was wait and hope that by the grace of a miracle some small opportunity for him to escape presented itself sooner, rather than later. The door to the room opened and he twisted his head around to look. The Necromancer stormed over to Dean and the three Lytch; his face like thunder. He briefly glared at Dean before rapidly speaking to the Lytch in a voice too low for Dean to catch what was being said and to know why the Necromancer appeared to be in such a rage. The Necromancer jabbed a finger back towards the door, and the two nameless Lytch immediately moved off in unison and exited the room.

Not taking the time to consider the possible implications, Dean's focus remained exclusively on the Necromancer. In particular, on the way he was now dressed.  
"_What the.._? You're... What the_** fuck **_are you doin' wearing my clothes _ass wipe?_ I swear, if you've damaged that jacket I'll….."  
The Necromancer was by Dean's side in two strides. Bending down to him until his face was just inches from Dean's, his eye's bored into Dean as he snarled,  
"_You'll_ _**what**__Winchester?"  
_Dean took the opportunity to spit heartily into the Necromancer's face.  
"What happened to _Mr_? Jerk off."

The solid back hander Dean received across his face made him gasp.  
"For your information….the _only_ reason I have lowered myself to even _touch_ these stinking rags of yours, is that the ritual demands that I wear the clothes of the one who's soul I intend to extract. Oh...and just in case we are still not yet clear, that would be _**your **_soul and I see no reason not to get on with it."  
The Necromancer reached across Dean and up to the alter. As he did so, an over sized gold locket set with one large central ruby swung forward from where it hung on a thick gold chain around the Necromancer's neck. As the Necromancer straightened up again, holding the highly decorative ivory handled dagger which Dean had earlier predicted would be there, Dean nodded his head toward the locket.  
"Gotta tell you, shit-for-brains….That _really_ doesn't go with my outfit."  
As Dean spoke, there was a frame shaking thud against the door, quickly followed by a shout.  
"_**Come on then dog breath! Try it!"  
**_Dean immediately began a vigorous and renewed struggle against the straps which held him.  
"_Sammy!** Sam! In here!."**_

The response was the sound of something hitting hard against a solid object, followed almost instantaneously by the sound of splintering wood and a cry of pain that Dean recognised as coming from Sam. A tsunami of fear and fury drove Dean's struggles on to a frantic level, so much so he didn't actually notice the sudden give in one of the straps around his ankles.  
"_Mr Willerton. If you would please?"  
_Strong hands clamped down hard onto Dean's shoulders and had no problem at all pinning him to the table. The sounds of the desperate hand to hand battle happening outside the room competed with the threats and curses being spat out at the Necromancer by Dean.  
"_**You shit eating piece of scum….I'm gonna' rip your freaking heart out and shove it down your throat, I swear! I'm gonna' make you eat it whole, right before I torch you. You die today. Do you get me? You puke faced, maggot riddled pile of…"**_

Dean's shouts suddenly cut short and the breath caught in his throat. Every one of his muscles went into spasm, the veins in his neck corded and his body involuntary bucked against the onset of near perfect pain; as the Necromancer stabbed the dagger he held into Dean's chest and began to hurriedly and roughly carve the sigil for the ritual deep into his skin.

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	22. Chapter 22

**CHAPTER TWENTY TWO**

Sam could have sworn he heard every bone in his spine crack as he was thrown violently against the door which the Necromancer had so recently emerged from. He crashed against it hard enough to break the wooden door away from it's lock. The door it flew open inwardly, dumping Sam unceremoniously onto the floor. Sam landed hard, the wind knocked out of him. Slightly dazed, he lay on his back, eyes closed, gasping as he desperately tried to drag air back into his lungs.

Along the corridor itself, a large area of the walls on both sides were already soaked and dripping with the dark blood of one of the two Lytch who had been sent by the Necromancer to deal with Sam. As Sam had separated the first Lytch from it's head, the body had begun spinning around on the spot, creating something like a piece of abstract art as the shower of blood from it's neck sprayed out and hit the walls. The body now lay still, waiting for the onset of rapid decomposition. The head itself had rolled bumpily off down the corridor where it now lay, appearing to be keeping a watch over events, although the eyes were cloudy and sightless.

Sam couldn't hold back his startled cry as he was suddenly grabbed by one ankle and yanked back into the corridor. His whole body protested as the remaining Lytch, still holding Sam by one ankle, began to hoist him up into the air until Sam dangled up-side-down. Sam's eyes opened in surprise at the Lytch's move and he began to thrash and squirm, not unlike an eel on a hook. Sam managed to make a solid kick directly into the face of the Lytch with the booted foot of his unencumbered leg. The Lytch staggered, but maintained it's hold on Sam's ankle in the one hand, whilst desperately attempting to take hold of Sam's free leg with the other. Sam kicked again, this time catching the Lytch squarely under it's jaw and, for an awful moment, Sam stared in morbid fascination as the lower jaw detached from the rest of the Lytch's face and was left swinging wildly from a few lengths of flesh, bumping against the Lytch's own shoulder and chest.

Sam felt blood from the Lytch's gaping injury splash downwards, landing on his face and clothing. That, combined with being swung around whilst up-side-down, made Sam begin to feel distinctly queasy. The Lytch changed tactics and Sam grunted as the Lytch began to pound the floor with the top of Sam's head, banging him up and down like he was some kind of human floor mop. Internally Sam's head quickly began to throb in time. He had to get out of this, before the creature managed to knock him senseless. Ignoring the desperate protest of his back, Sam bellowed out loud and, utilising the strength in his abdominal muscles, propelled the upper half of his body upwards.

The Lytch blinked in surprise when it found itself suddenly looking into the face of it's plaything. The look of surprise turned to vague puzzlement as Sam violently swung the machete and hacked through the arm with which the Lytch was holding Sam, cutting it off at the elbow. Sam hit the floor again with an _oof_ and quickly rolled away from the Lytch. Sitting upright, he couldn't help the dry heave at the sight of the hand and forearm of the Lytch still attached to his ankle. Grimacing, he reached forward and yanked the partial limb off himself...then hurled it back at the Lytch.  
"_Hey! Wormfood!_ This yours?"

The amputated lower arm hit the Lytch in the chest before falling to the floor at it's feet. Waving it's remaining bloody stump, the Lytch looked down to where the rest of it's arm lay. It almost seemed to be considering whether it could stick them back together again. Sam made good use of the Lytch's distraction. In one fluid motion he stood and then threw himself at the Lytch with an animal like roar of fury. With both hands clasped around the handle of the blood soaked machete, Sam put all his strength into relieving this Lytch of it's head just as he had it's companion's. The head arched through the air before landing with a solid _thunk_ and rolling off down the corridor to collide with the head of the first Lytch. Sam punched the air,  
"_**Strike!"  
**_Walking away from the still upright body of the defeated Lytch, Sam gave it a helpful prod with one finger and the body collapsed to the floor.

Sam gave himself a moment to catch his breath and to consider his next move. His eyes flickered between the open doorway leading into the room that the Necromancer had initially emerged from; and the closed door of the room the Necromancer had then entered. The same door that the two Lytch had come at him from, and the same door from behind which he had heard his brother shouting for him.

Sam made his decision. He quickly walked across to the open doorway.

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_A.N. Reviews might help me to decide what kind of ending to go for? :)_


	23. Chapter 23

_A.N. Rebecca0 – at a guess? Another couple of chapters. Heather0 – you want it? You got it! Serina0 – quick enough for you?  
__I think I'm going to have a long lie down once this is finished :D_

**CHAPTER TWENTY THREE**

With all his heart all Sam really wanted was to go straight for his brother. It took all his self control, every ounce of will-power to walk in the opposite direction instead and to head into the Necromancer's room. He reminded himself that Bobby had been clear. The only way to help Dean and to kill this goon was to destroy the phylactery. He couldn't take the risk of rushing to Dean, only to find that he was helpless against the Necromancer. He knew he had no real choice. He _had_ to search this room first. He clung to the hope that he could still to get to Dean in time, desperately trying to ignore the gut wrenching worry caused by not having heard Dean's voice since he called out for Sam, followed by the familiar sound of him shooting his mouth off at someone.

The Necromancer finally finished carving the symbol into Dean and straightened up. He nodded toward the candles positioned on the ritual alter.  
"Would you please be so kind Mr Willerton?"  
Dean lay panting and trying to focus on anything other than the hurt. He forced himself to direct his attention into straining to hear _anything_ from outside this room that would reassure him Sam was still alive and fighting. It was all that mattered to him now.

Dean's heart lifted when he heard his brother's shout of "Strike!" Why Sam had shouted it, Dean neither knew nor cared. What he _did_ know is that there had been the sound of triumph in Sam's voice and, despite everything, Dean smiled, _Atta boy Sammy. _Dean glanced up at the Necromancer wondering if he had heard Sam too. He was in time to watch as the man used the same dagger he had so recently been using on Dean, to slice open one of his own palms. Eyes closed, the Necromancer reached out toward the alter with his uninjured hand. The Lytch immediately turned and carefully lifted up an ancient book which had, until then, lay open on the velvet cloth.

The plain black leather bound book was relatively small, not much bigger than a standard paperback, but it's size was misleading. Contained between it's innocuous cover, lay one of the most powerful books known to the supernatural world. There was no title or cipher inscribed on the books cover however, had Bobby been there he would have recognised the book instantly; even though it was unique with no copies of it in existence. Throughout time only brief snippets of a paragraph or two had ever been referenced. With great care the Lytch stood within reach of the Necromancer and held the book out to him with it balanced in his steady hands. The Necromancer opened his eyes and looked at the book with reverence, before gently placing his uncut palm flat onto the open pages.  
"The Way of The Dead…..I am ready."

Sam gazed around the room. Once again the only lighting was limited to flickering candle lamps, but their low glow did nothing to hide the opulence within the room. There were no windows that Sam could see and every wall was covered in dark green heavy chenille which was shot through with an intricate design picked out in gold thread. The thread work glittered in the candle light. The furnishings were dominated by a large, ornate four poster bed made of highly polished wood. Each of the four posts were generously draped in soft, red, antique velvet. Even the bedding was made up of antique velvets and furs. Sam's feet sank into the pile of a luxuriant and highly patterned carpet in subdued shades of deep dark greens, reds, black, blues and gold. The pale gold hues of the polished wood wardrobes danced in the candlelight. Sam noticed a superb gentleman's dressing table stood against one wall. Ignoring the other furnishings within the room, Sam made his way over to it.

A gentleman's grooming set made of ivory, crystal and antique silver lay open on one side of the dresser. Next to it, the hinged lid raised, sat a solid gold, engine turned box containing a selection of pairs of expensive looking cufflinks. Without hesitation Sam picked up the box and contents, pleased at how heavy with gold it felt, and dropped it into his rucksack.  
"For you, Dean."  
Standing alone on the other side of the dresser area was another box. This one gleamed jet black. It's surface was glass smooth and it felt cool to Sam's touch. The lid was down, and the delicate gold key still sat in the lock.

His heart racing, Sam turned the key and opened the lid. The box was empty. However, it's padded interior had a visible indentation which was clearly designed to snugly hold whatever it had been made for. Sam picked the box up and carefully traced through the indentation with a finger, constructing a mental image of the shape of the missing item. He smiled and put the box down again,  
"Hang in there Dean. I'm on my way to you now."

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	24. Chapter 24

**CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR**

Dean tensed and his breathing hitched as the Necromancer pressed his bleeding palm firmly down against the centre of the cipher on Dean's chest. Ice blue eyes briefly locked with green.  
"If it comforts you, your shell will be put to death swiftly and be given a Hunter's funeral."  
"Fu…_Fuck you_!"  
The Necromancer smiled humourlessly, and lowered his head as if to pray. Dean held his breath, waiting.

At first there was stillness and silence, then Dean heard the Necromancer begin a quiet chant. Within seconds, Dean became aware of an increasing warmth between the Necromancer's hand and his own chest. Dean gave a soft sigh, realising that it was now probably too late for him. But that didn't mean that he couldn't try to ensure Sam's safety.  
"Please…My brother. I won't fight you anymore, just...please...let my brother go unharmed, ok?"  
Continuing with his chant, the Necromancer glanced up at Dean. He gave a curt nod, before looking away again.

The chanting began to grow louder and, at the same time, the warmth that Dean still felt, began to turn to heat. Abruptly, the chanting ceased and the Necromancer removed his palm from Dean's chest. He threw his head back and raised both arms into the air.  
"_**To sumbolaion dakineto moi!"  
**_Almost faster than Dean could follow the Necromancer brought his wounded hand down again, ramming clawed fingers into Dean's chest. Dean's own hands fisted as he cried out in his suffering. The Necromancer began to recite the ritual proper in an ancient, guttural tongue which was unlike anything Dean had ever heard. A pure white light seemed to flare from beneath the Necromancer's hand and then begin to travel up his arm, engulfing it within it's shimmering brilliance. Dean moaned, the sound quickly intensifying along with his pain and distress. His whole body began to thrash against the table's surface. He felt the fingers in his chest dig deeper and his eyes began to lose their focus. At last Dean's flailing ceased and he lay limp as his life force ebbed and the pure energy which was his soul continued to transfer into the Necromancer.

The feelings running throughout the Necromancer were like nothing he had ever experienced before. The soul that entered him was so pure, so full of purpose that helpless tears fell in rivulets down the Necromancer's face and he gave himself over fully to the raw emotion which seeped throughout his body as he drank in Dean's essence. So enraptured that he didn't here the door crash open; was unaware of the blood soaked and vengeful figure of Sam Winchester.  
"_Oi! Pond scum!_ _**Get the fuck away from my brother!"**_

As Sam made his presence known, the light pulsating around and into the Necromancer flared into incandescence as it detached from it's true host and fully entered the Necromancer. The Necromancer howled, falling to his knees in a half stupor. The Lytch recognised his master's vulnerability at that moment, and he took a step toward Sam.  
"_**No**."  
_The Lytch turned his head back to his creator who still knelt on the floor, with one arm raised toward the Lytch. Still clutching the dripping machete in one hand, Sam stared at the Lytch and frowned.  
"You! I remember you. You were watching Dean in the diner!"  
The Lytch gave the barest nod of confirmation as it's gaze travelled to the corridor area outside the room. Sam realised what the Lytch was looking for and he gave a cold smile.  
"They're dead…again."

Willerton's expression was unreadable as he again met Sam's eyes. A sound broke the deadlock and Sam turned to see the Necromancer staggering to his feet. Sam lifted his other hand up, and pointed the Glock unwaveringly at the man. Bizarrely, the Necromancer chuckled.  
"Mr Winchester the younger I presume? I congratulate you on your tenacity boy, but you are too late to save your brother.

The rush of feeling kept hitting Sam as if he were an emotional punch bag. His gaze was drawn to Dean. Only the very slight rise and fall of his chest signalled that Dean was still alive. Sam's face hardened as he saw the physical damage inflicted by the Necromancer.  
"Sam, I gave your brother my word that you would be left unharmed."  
Amidst his fury, Sam glared at the silent Lytch, his eyes laying down a challenge. Mr Willerton very briefly glanced across at his master, then took three steps backwards and stood impassive, his hands clasped behind his back.

Sam returned his attention to the Necromancer.  
"Yeah? Well. You might live just long enough to regret that promise."  
Ignoring the Necromancer's attempt to adopt a sympathetic attitude, Sam aimed the Glock at the Necromancer's chest. The Necromancer smiled gently.  
"Sam…Sammy? You should know that you can't kill me. _I am an immortal!"  
_"Let's find out, shall we? Oh..and for the record, my name is Sam."  
Without further hesitation Sam began to empty his whole clip into the Necromancer.

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**:D**


	25. Chapter 25

_A.N. The penultimate chapter. If anyone is still with me and the boys in this WELL DONE!  
__I am hoping to get the **final** chapter up this evening (fingers crossed)._

**CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE**

The Necromancer paled as the first bullet hit, jerking him back a couple of steps, and the Necromancer, in a sickening moment of insight, knew what Sam was aiming for. In a panic he desperately tried, and failed, to dodge Sam's bullets and Sam knew he was right. Sam paused, aimed, fired, knocking the Necromancer up against a wall and shattering the locket hung around his neck.

Silence descended, almost deafening in it's contrast to the noise of repeat gunfire. Slumped breathlessly against the wall, the Necromancer looked down at himself, and began to laugh hysterically. Sam stared in abject horror. He had been so certain, so absolutely sure that the locket was the Necromancer's phylactery. Responding to the hint of movement in the periphery of his vision, Sam turned. He saw the Lytch, _Willerton?_ raise a hand, palm facing Sam, clearly signalling for Sam to _wait, _and so Sam waited.

The sound of the Necromancer's laughter died away, only to be replaced by a howled cry.  
"No….No…_.No_….._**Nooooooo!"  
**_What Sam would later think of as fracture lines began to zig-zag their way across the Necromancer's skin. And each lengthening tear glowed from the lights within. As the cracks widened, shimmering lights of every colour and hue streamed out of them, curling up and away from the prison which had been the Necromancer's body. They all began to swirl and spiral upwards, the dancing lights appeared to bump against the high ceiling, and from there seemed to simply vanish through it. All….except one. The brightest of them flittered around the others, then darted toward where the shell of Dean Winchester lay. It hovered in mid-air, swirling like a spinning top, then like a shooting star it streaked toward the symbol carved into Dean's chest where, with a final burst of grace, it quietly dissipated.

"_Nooo_! Stop! _Come back_…_come_…."  
Feeling more than a little shell shocked at what he had just witnessed, the desperate sound of the Necromancer's cries startled Sam. Tearing his focus away from his brother, Sam re-directed his attention onto the Necromancer. A mixture of horror and fascination swept through Sam and he looked on in distaste as the once powerful Necromancer staggered after a weak shaft of misty grey light, his hand flailing and scrabbling at the air as if he were trying to catch hold of the dismally insignificant thing. Small and pathetic though it looked, it appeared to Sam that the tattered remnant that remained of the Necromancer's own soul was purposely dancing in and out of the Necromancer's grasping fingers. The patch of grey climbed higher, forcing the Necromancer to reach and stretch up after it until, eventually, he over-reached, and toppled forward to land in an ungainly heap on the floor. Above the now still and silent form, the small area of grey light shrank, and went out.

Still rooted to the spot, Sam couldn't bring himself to look away as the Necromancer's flesh began to shrivel and dry until, for a brief moment, only bare bones remained. Quickly these too began to break down until they were little more than dust piles on the floor. It was the sound of something landing heavily on the floor that finally shook Sam from his near stupor and he spun around to see the Lytch had collapsed once the Necromancer died. The rapid decomposition had already begun, even though the Lytch was still aware. Sam crossed over to the creature and knelt by it.  
"You knew this would happen when the Necromancer died?"  
The Lytch nodded stiffly.  
"But you didn't try to stop me….Why?"  
Although his eyes were already becoming cloudy, the Lytch turned his gaze to the table on which Dean lay. When the Lytch spoke, his voice whispered like dry autumn leaves.  
_"Family."  
_Then he was gone.

A low moan cut through Sam's stupor and he hurried to his brother.  
"Dean? Dean it's me, Sam. C'mon Dean. Come back."  
Stroking his brother's cheek, Sam kept up his litany of reassurance and persuasion, willing Dean to open his eyes and becoming frustrated when a small frown crossed Dean's face in response to Sam's voice, but his eyes remained closed. Sam switched his efforts to cutting through the thick leather strapping which held his brother, grimacing when he saw the mess Dean had made of his wrists whilst trying to yank himself free. He was surprised to discover the loosened ankle strap and wondered just how hard Dean must have struggled to cause the strap to give. A small sound from behind caused such a tide of relief that Sam wasn't convinced his knees wouldn't give way,  
"S'm."

Shakily Sam moved and watched as Dean's eyes slitted open.  
"Hi."  
Dean frowned.  
"Blood?"  
Sam was puzzled, until Dean tried to raise a hand up to Sam's face. Capturing Dean's wavering hand in his, Sam grinned at his brother's habit, so ingrained as it was, of putting Sam always before himself.  
"It's ok. It's not mine."  
Dean nodded.  
"Tha's good."  
"Feel like sitting up?"  
Dean blinked up at his brother.  
"Why?"  
Sam smiled broadly.  
"Oh nothing really. Just thought you might wanna get out of here?"  
Dean seemed to consider this momentarily before giving a deep sigh.  
"S'gonna hurt."  
Sam put a hand against Dean's cheek in sympathy.  
"Yeah….It is."  
Dean nodded, then reached out to Sam.  
"Help me?"

Dean sat on the edge of the table as he fought to steady his breathing. Sam waited patiently, one arm across Dean's back supporting him. Dean glanced vaguely around the room, stopping when he saw a full skeleton collapsed untidily on the floor.  
"Who's that?"  
Sam smiled sadly at what now remained of Willerton.  
"The guy from the diner….The one that liked you. I think you made an impression on him."  
"Huh?"  
"Never mind. You about ready to try for standing?  
Dean looked determined.  
"Ok."

It was a slow walk out to the corridor and Dean had first insisted Sam find the Necromancer's book to take with them. Dean tried his hardest, but Sam still had to take most of his brother's weight. He tried to close his ears to the small sounds of hurt and the stuttered breaths coming from Dean as his brother stubbornly worked at staying upright. Suddenly, Dean hesitated.  
"What is it? Dean? You need to take a break?"  
Dean turned to look up at Sam and Sam was startled by the raw fear he saw in Dean's eyes.  
"Can't….Can't go into the dark. S'not safe Sammy."  
With no idea as to what was upsetting Dean, Sam simply accepted his brother's words.  
"Ok. You can rest here and I'll light the rest of the corridor."  
"Don't get stuck in the dark Sammy!"  
"I won't, I promise."

Leaving Dean sat on the floor supported by his back against a wall in the candlelit area, Sam moved ahead using the maglight and lit all the other lamps he could find that still had any remnants of candles in them. Looking back he could still see Dean and he gave a thumbs up before hurrying down the small flight of stairs and out onto the landing area. To his relief there were more lamps, he didn't fancy trying to persuade his brother to negotiate the stairs in the dark.

When he returned, Dean's eyes were closed again. Sam squatted down by his side.  
"Hey sleepy. Time to move again."  
Slowly opening his eyes, Dean gazed around groggily.  
"We late?"  
Sam pushed down his immediate feeling of unease.  
"Not yet. We'll be ok if we set off now."

Sam felt Dean swaying slightly as they both stood looking down at the two sets of stairs confronting them.  
"S'mmy?"  
It was clear from his speech that Dean was exhausted. Ignoring his own aches and pains in his back, Sam gave Dean a reassuring smile.  
"Don't worry bro'. I'm going to carry you down."  
Any other time Sam might have laughed at his weakened brother's immediate attempt to back away from him; right now he simply grabbed Dean with both hands as Dean staggered and shook his head.  
"You can't."  
"Have you got a better idea?"  
"Take the elevator?"  
Sam kept his tone even, not wanting Dean to pick up on his growing impatience to get Dean of this place and to somewhere where he could take care of his brother's wounds.  
"Dean. Trust me….Please?"  
Reluctantly Dean gave his consent.  
The fireman's lift hurt both of them and Sam had the awful realisation that he wouldn't be able to carry Dean this way the good half mile or so back through the woods to the car. As he finally reached the bottom of the main staircase, Dean's quiet mewls of pain had ceased.

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	26. Chapter 26

_A.N. So, here it is, the final part. Once again I want to say a HUGE thank you to those who have been in touch and to those who have kept in touch through this. I'm kinda gonna miss you! *sob*_

**CHAPTER TWENTY SIX**

Recalling the layout of the foyer area, Sam pin pointed where he had seen the old fashioned day bed. Very little of the candlelight manage to reach this far, but it was still enough for Sam and he unerringly carried Dean to the day bed, carefully setting his brother down. For his part, Dean was out cold. Sam arranged Dean on the couch as best he could before leaving him to gather more candles from the dining room. He was already heading back when he heard his brother's cry of fear.

Sam raced out of the dining room to where Dean sat, bolt upright, eyes wide and visibly trembling from head to foot.  
"Dean! It's ok. I'm here…I'm here."  
The terror openly displayed on Dean's face and the way he reached out to Sam almost broke Sam's heart. He sat down next to his brother and gently wrapped his arms around Dean as best he could without causing Dean pain.  
"Shhhh. It's ok….You're safe. I got you."  
When Dean spoke it was in a quiet, subdued voice, so unlike his usual cocky kick ass tone. Sam found himself having to blink hard to drive away the threatening tears. Dean sounded so young and so vulnerable in that moment.  
"Sammy?"  
"Yeah."  
"I wanna' go home."

Dean sat on a large carver chair that Sam had dragged out of the dining room. He was wearing Sam's jacket, it's long sleeves hanging way past his hands, he watched his brother doubtfully. Sam finally sat back on his knees and admired his own handy work.  
"Well…It's kinda McGyver, but what d'you think?"  
Dean considered the conversion carried out on the day bed, his expression serious. Sam had taken the thing apart, leaving only the actual seat itself along with two legs which were still attached at one end. Another raid on the dining room had lead to a makeshift harness fashioned from lengths of tapestry, each end of the "harness" was tied securely around a leg. More torn lengths of tapestry were twisted together to form a rough "rope" which was meant to help hold Dean  
onto the strange one man stretcher. Dean pronounced his opinion.  
"I think I'm going to feel a complete dick!"  
Sam laughed out loud, as much from relief as at the comment. For the first time, Dean had sounded more like himself.  
"Well. I'm sorry about that, but it's the best you're going to get right now."  
"Really…That's fine by me. Get me on it and I'll cope with the dick factor."

Sam walked out of the plantation house, the tapestry harness around his middle and hauling Dean, laid as best he could be on the old sofa seat behind him. The first signs of dawn were starting to show in the sky and the early dawn chorus had already begun. Everything around the two brother's smelled of wet pine and damp moss. As Sam pulled Dean along the forest floor, he tried hard to avoid the worst of any bumps and indents. Dean bit his lip and concentrated on not making any sound which would alert Sam to the discomfort he suffered with every jolt. At last the Impala came into view in the grey early morning light.  
"The car! We've made it Dean!"

As Sam fussed around getting Dean laid down and settled on the back seat of his baby, Dean made a mental note to subject his brother to a long lecture on the issue of priorities. Priority one being _don't scratch my car by intentionally driving her through giant bushes ever again_. He knew Sam would be expecting Dean to give him hell about it, and he figured the least he could do to thank Sam was to prove him right!

Dean closed his eyes, doing his best to ignore the sound of yet more twigs and branches dragging along his paintwork as Sam cautiously reversed the car back onto the road. Sam held his breath, waiting for some comment from the back. When non came he glanced anxiously at Dean through the driver's mirror. Dean opened one eye and looked sleepily back at him.  
"Where're we headin'?"  
Sam returned to watching the road.  
"There's a place up ahead. I'm going to book us in somewhere. I need to have a proper look at you, get that shoulder wound cleaned up and…the other."  
Dean nodded.  
"What's the name of the place?"  
Sam looked up at the driver's mirror again.  
"What? Oh…er…Ruby Falls."  
He had to fight the urge to laugh at the expression on Dean's face. Dean, however, said nothing; he simply stared at the back of his younger brother's head once Sam looked away.

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**EPILOGUE**

They hung around for three days before Sam felt Dean was fit enough to travel. Whist they both took the opportunity to rest, they told each other of their experiences from the time when Dean was first taken, although Dean was often hesitant. He was also unusually quiet much of the time. Any gentle enquiries by Sam were met with a dismissive _it's nothing_ or _I'm just tired,_ leaving Sam both frustrated and concerned. The long car journey simply served to emphasise how pre-occupied Dean was, and they were both relieved to be finally pulling up at Bobby's.

It was a couple of night's later; Sam had excused himself and gone to bed, leaving Bobby and Dean sat sharing half a bottle of whiskey and watching the fire. Dean was the one to finally break the comfortable silence.  
"So, Bobby. I've been thinkin'….."  
Bobby raised his glass to Dean,  
"Well. I reckon that explains the relative peace an' quiet around here then."  
"I'm serious Bobby!"

Bobby looked at Dean thoughtfully.  
"Ok…Wanna tell me _what_ you've been thinkin' about so hard?"  
Dean shifted uncomfortably, averting his face away from Bobby's steady gaze.  
"About….you know….that sonovabitch Necromancer guy."  
Bobby nodded,  
"And?"  
"And….what if he was right Bobby?"

Bobby had another swallow of his whiskey before putting his glass down. He'd been waiting for Dean to bring this up.  
"Right about what son?"  
Dean gave Bobby a swift glare of exasperation.  
"About me…You know!"  
Bobby knew right enough, but he wanted to hear Dean say it.  
"Know what?"  
Dean locked eyes with the man he regarded as a second father.  
"He said I was an undead."  
"I know. You told me."  
"Well? C'mon Bobby, stop pissin' about. What if he was right? What if I _am_ some kinda freaky ass undead monster?"

Bobby didn't flinch and his expression didn't alter as he calmly looked back at the distressed young Hunter.  
"Dean…that idjit got it wrong about you. An' _you're_ an idjit if you believe any of the bullshit he spouted. Course, you did get _one_ thing right."  
Dean frowned,  
"Did I?"  
"Yeah, well. You gotta admit. You _are_ kinda freaky assed!"  
Both men chuckled and Dean winked at Bobby.  
"Sure am Bobby. I sure am."

Turning away Dean gazed deep into the flames, the smile dissolving from his lips as the question now haunting him continued to weave in and out of his thoughts.  
_But…what if?_

**end**

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_A.N. So there you have it. I hope you enjoyed it. Now it's over I feel at a bit of a loss as to what to do next! Oh well :D  
__Chick xx_


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